


The Fishermen's Help

by Lilili_cat



Category: Naruto
Genre: Allerleirauh, Attempted Forced Marriage, Attempted Incest, Attempted Underage, Fluff, M/M, No actual incest or forced marriage or underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-04-05 17:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 52,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19045066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilili_cat/pseuds/Lilili_cat
Summary: A retelling of the fairytale ofAllerleirauhin Naruto.





	1. Part I: The Death of Senju Kamiko

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drelfina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drelfina/gifts).



> To drelfina: I hope you're happy. I had _intended_ to work on the To Live fic...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The death of a wise and beloved queen leads to insanity and twisted desires...

**The Death of Senju Kamiko**

 

Tobirama sits by his mother's side, holding her frail, pale hand in his. Despite all the best efforts of their clan medics, the fever has not subsided, and she does not wake. It would be different if Hashirama were here to tend to her, for there was no better healer than Tobirama's dearest older brother in the whole of Fire Country and likely the whole of the world as well, but he has been away on mission for the past moon and can not be reached.

Hashirama is not due to return for another 11 moons, and yet, here their mother lies, withering away from the malady that caught them all unawares. It began as a small cold, but soon Kamiko complained of severe headaches and then fell into fever. She began vomiting, sometimes with blood, and it had been a struggle to keep the nutrients she needed to live inside of her.

When she had fallen into convulsions, there had been a faint glimmer of hope. Her symptoms seemed to be of a well-known illness, contracted through the hateful bloodsucking pests that always announced themselves with a high pitched whine (on this, the Senju and Uchiha could agree at the least). But the hope was soon dashed. None of their usual treatments worked, and Tobirama's mother continued her decline until, 10 days after she had first complained of a headache, Kamiko did not wake.

It has now been two days since, and Tobirama has not left her side.

Tobirama knows he ought to be taking to the battlefield, to lead the skirmishes against their ancestral foes while his brother is away, but in this, he chooses his filial duty to his mother over the duty he owes to the elders of his clan. He will not abandon her now.

Kamiko taught him everything, from critically analyzing the information they receive to the proper way to conduct an experiment. It is she who purchased and gave him his first set of scales, she who soldered a miniature compass and sundial into one ornament and chained it up into a pendant for him, she who lit a small copper string on green fire to the delight of his three-year old eyes.

_“Tobira-chan!” she always called him._

_“Come look! Isn't this green fire interesting? Why do you think it's green instead of orange like the other fires?”_

She is his mentor and his mother, and the pair of them are often said to be made of the same clay. Both are pale of hair and skin, tall with lithe, compact muscles built for speed rather than strength and both have the same sharp, ever inquisitive, ever thinking mind.

A mind like a samurai's katana, Butsuma had often said, fiercely proud of his wife and just as proud of his second son. The most brilliant minds in all of Hi no Kuni.

When the Elders try to force Tobirama from his mother's sickbed, it is Butsuma who protests their rebukes.

“His duties—”

“Filial duties come before clan duties, and you should not forget yourself, Elder Noritaka!”

Butsuma rails against them with the anger of a grieving husband and father and bitterly demands they leave his wife's sickroom. For all that he is usually obedient to their advice, in this, he is no unexpected ally.

After all, where the Hagoromo used to be led by two clan heads sharing power equally, there now exists only one. The other had slandered Senju Kamiko's name, claimed to have bedded her and given her a grievous injury in battle. He now lay buried—mostly. For although the Hagoromo put in their best effort, they could not locate all of his...pieces.

It is well known throughout the land just how much Butsuma loves and adores his wife. It is also well known that to wound one is to wound the other and it is best to take out both at the same time if possible.

The Senju Elders had always grumbled about Butsuma's unseeming devotion.

“He should take a few concubines or lovers at the very least and give us more children,” they would mutter and moan among themselves.

For all of their discontent, they never tried hard to force Butsuma to follow their directives in this area. The one time they tried...Well, it was perhaps the first time he had set himself against the Elder Council and when they had learned better, they found themselves short one member.

Elder Giichi had found himself accused of embezzlement of clan funds and subsequently executed.

A dutiful clan head he may be in nearly all ways, but the Elder Council quickly learned to tread carefully around the subject of his wife.

That same Butsuma now sits opposite his son, his wife's other hand cradled in his, for he, too, has not left his wife's side. The son sits himself on her left, the father on her right, neither leaving the woman most dear to them both.

Day by slow, crawling, unending day, Butsuma and Tobirama watch with agonized eyes as Kamiko continues to slip from their very grasps. The endless drip of time is only interrupted by Cousin Touka, who, having only just returned from her recent raid against the Hagoromo, makes her way to her aunt's sickroom immediately.

“She should have come to debrief us on her mission! Not head straight to Lady Kamiko's sickbed,” Elder Noritaka grumbles.

But the Elder is wise. He does not say so in front of her face for he knows that she is ranked third strongest of the new generation and is currently the only one with high ranking in any condition to lead battles.

Touka brings Butsuma and Tobirama food and drink to sustain their vigil and then spends a few hours at her sick aunt's side. By morning, she must leave, for she has tarried giving her report long enough.

Kamiko continues to slip away until, approximately 15 days since she first fell ill, Lady Senju leaves the world of the shinobi no mono to permanently reside in the Pure Lands.

-~&~-

The funeral is somber.

Tobirama's mother is cleaned and clothed in a clean white kimono, folded right side over the left as is proper. Coins, her jewelry and the gifts Tobirama and Hashirama had given her in life are placed in the casket next to her. Butsuma, stone-faced (for if he succumbs to any emotion, any at all, he will succumb to them all), lays a kunai on her breast. She would be able to protect herself in the Pure Lands.

The priest chants the appropriate sutra and, ending it, renames her Nadeshiko to prevent her spirit from returning to the land of the living.

Tobirama stands in his roughspun white mourning yukata. He gave all his tears in the previous night, and can only watch only with empty, dry, hot eyes as his mother's casket is closed and the kindling is readied on top of it. Touka stands next to him, a solid presence by his side, one hand comfortingly on his shoulder. He is pathetically grateful for her support.

His father stands before him, seemingly equally drained of all life.

This would be their last glimpse of Kamiko's casket before it is lit on fire.

Briefly, Tobirama spares a thought for his absent brother.

Hashirama will be crushed to learn of their mother's death.

Hashirama will be crushed to have missed her funeral rites.

A solemnly whispered katon, and the first sparks catch hold of the dry kindling. With a crackle, the pyre lights up, and Tobirama is forced to turn his face away from the intense heat.

He sees Elder Noritaka frowning at his father and, at the considering look, despite the heat from the flames, Tobirama feels an ominous chill take hold at the base of his spine.

-~&~-

Tobirama's premonition turns out to be justified for only three months after Kamiko's death, the Senju Elders mount an official call for Butsuma to remarry.

Tobirama is upset. Butsuma is furious.

The mourning period is only just over, and they dare to make such a suggestion?

But they have the support of most of the rest of the clan in this matter.

“Butsuma-sama, we know you mean to honor your deceased wife and surely, you already do her memory much justice. You have done your duty to her, and the necessary observance is fulfilled! Kamiko of all women was sensible and loyal. She would understand, particularly since you only have two surviving sons and with one of them gone for so long on his mission...”

Butsuma does not prove himself willing to budge on this.

“Are you suggesting that I betray my wife's memory? Are you suggesting that my son Tobirama, one of the most capable in the clan and certainly more intelligent than anyone else, is, in some way, unsuitable?”

Elder Noritaka shakes his head.

“I would not dare, though Tobirama has been negligent in his duties to the clan for many months now,” he mutters.

Butsuma grabs the elderly man by the lapels of his shirt.

“Tobirama,” the Senju head stresses, “has been following his duties as a filial son. That _includes_ the proper mourning period.”

“My apologies, Butsuma-sama,” Noritaka gasps. “I have poor memory these days.”

Butsuma releases the man and watches with dispassionate eyes as he falls to the grassy ground with a pained wince.

“See that neither you nor those others on the council that seek to impel me to dishonor should forget it again.”

But, just as the tide will wear away rocks until they are smooth sand, Butsuma could not stand against the mounting pressure on him forever.

Exactly four months after Kamiko's death, after days and days of different Elders requesting he reconsider, after Elder Noritaka organizes the younger Senju relatives and they kneel for three days straight in front of Butsuma's house (Cousin Touka tries, but they refuse to budge, even against her threats and she is soon sent out to lead another mission against the Hagoromo), wailing that the ancestral kami would be displeased and the heavens will punish the Senju, Butsuma finally relents.

He agrees to remarry.

But...he stipulates that the candidates must be similar to Kamiko in both spirit and mind, and both ability and form. For, as he reasons--

“After knowing the strength and quickness of mind of Kamiko, after enjoying her loyalty and beauty, how is the clan to settle for someone inferior in the most exalted position of Lady of the Senju? The position wields a great deal of power, rank and authority in the clan, as it should. Only someone who can match those qualities and benefit the clan as Kamiko did ought to take her seat.”

At this, the Elders rejoice.

They eagerly send missives to the Hatake, for Kamiko came from the Hatake and surely the remaining daughter of that allied but more minor clan could fulfill Butsuma's requirements.

Alas, the Hatake reply that their daughter is already betrothed to the Inuzuka, and they cannot dishonor themselves and risk their alliances by breaking the betrothal.

A setback, but not an insurmountable one.

The Elders then try for the foreign Kaguya clan next, for that clan's reputation is fearsome and boasts one of the strongest taijutsu bloodlines. A number of its members have even been born with similar coloring to Kamiko. However Butsuma points out that that particular clan is not noted for their intelligence.

“Would you ally ourselves to barbarians who prefer brute force over strategy? Would you have the inherent bloodlust of that clan enter ours and doom us to die in some useless, misbegotten war?”

No matter. A match with a clan so foreign to their own is probably not a good one anyways.

They look to their neighbors the Nara next, for when it comes to intelligence and strategy, they consistently (with the exception of Tobirama) produce the best.

Butsuma has a complaint ready against them as well.

“Are we seeking to breed laziness into the very bones of our children?” the Senju clan head exclaims. “You complained about our younger son Tobirama's refusal to take to the battlefield just over one and a half moons ago, and yet you want us to intermingle with the Nara?”

He has similar objections to the Yamanaka--

“I have no desire to have all my innermost thoughts exposed, and I surmise that neither do any of you. Consider the late unlamented Elder Giichi.”

\--and the Sarutobi.

“I said similar to Kamiko in mind _and_ form. Form is not an optional consideration!”

At suggestion of their old allies the Uzumaki, the Elders feel a brief glimmer of hope—

“Wouldn't that interfere with our elder son Hashirama's betrothal?” Butsuma wonders, after a moment's pause.

—only to have that hope dashed straightaway.

Finally, Elder Noritaka throws his hands up in frustration.

“The only person who comes close to meeting your ridiculous requirements is second son Tobirama, and you know it! And you certainly can't marry him!”

And it is at that precise moment that Tobirama's life changes forever.

Butsuma scoffs but, strangely, a darkness comes across his features after that. The man begins to brood. He calls his second son to discuss inconsequential affairs in his office and then, once Tobirama arrives, simply sits and stares at the young man.

A dutiful son, Tobirama sits through each encounter, able to do nothing but silently squirm in his seat as his father stares at him with those discomfiting, darkened, considering eyes. Trying to leave before his father gives him permission to only causes the older man to rebuke him and command him to stay. And he takes to avoiding the messengers out of fear of receiving such a summons, of being placed under that gaze that seems to devour his being whole.

(Never has his father acted like this before. Butsuma was never the kindest of fathers, but his love was that of a disciplined hand, of a fierce nature that would not brook disapproval. A stern, but fair man, overall. One that would strike Hashirama for his foolishness and yet still find cause to praise that same son when he did well and fortified their defenses suitably. He has never been so unpredictable before, never so dangerously capricious.)

The behavior is not unremarked, and the messengers do their best to avoid their clan head, for fear of delivering such a summons to the young man.

It is a behavior almost everyone in the clan follows. The cousins learn to give Butsuma a wide berth, the Elders drop their insistence on his remarriage and relearn their old lessons to tread carefully around the clan head, and Tobirama casts his chakra out on the hour to sense his father's approaching chakra.

If only Cousin Touka, ever devoted, ever fond of her favorite younger cousin, could intervene...

Alas, she is, yet again, sent away on a mission far afield of their home and would not be able to return for half a year.

The rumors of Butsuma's madness soon spreads beyond the Senju, and even the Uchiha take care to avoid them, lest they, too, catch the madness of Senju Butsuma.

The unease in Tobirama grows and grows and grows until, one day, half a year after Kamiko's death, in full view of Tobirama and the rest of the clan, Butsuma determinedly walks up to Elder Noritaka and--

“Why can't I marry Tobirama?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The funerary rites are condensed mostly because I didn't want to write a thousand words on buddhist funerary rites. I'm hand-waving that away since Naruto warring states era would probably have different rites than modern Japan anyways.
> 
> For anyone wondering why they're all dressed in white while mourning (whereas most modern Japanese funerals tend to wear black), white is the traditional color of mourning. Black, I believe, is more a modern color of mourning.
> 
> Also, Kamiko's illness seemed like Japanese Encephalitis, but it is definitely not natural.
> 
> Meaning of names:
> 
> Kamiko: Little Goddess  
> Giichi: One Rule  
> Noritaka: Respect for the Law


	2. Part I: The Madness of Senju Butsuma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The king becomes a tyrant, and the kingdom that once loved him now fears him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is ending up longer than I expected. I originally planned to have part one be chapter one, but at this rate...it looks like it will take at least 3 chapters just to clear part one.
> 
> As usual, if you spot any grammatical errors (this chapter was particularly confusing with all the tenses going on), let me know. I hate them with a vengeance and will my best to stomp them out.

**The Madness of Senju Butsuma**  
  
The entirety of the Senju clan walks on eggshells for fear of drawing any attention to themselves. Their clan head, stern, strong and fair in his leadership duties has been reduced to a madman. And only fools seek to earn the regard of the insane.

Tobirama is no such fool, and if he could avoid his father, he would, filial duties be damned--but he cannot. Not after the events of the past month.

He recalls the shocking declaration, and the ensuing near outright brawl that followed.

That his father, his well-respected, sometimes admired, sometimes feared, father would ask for such a thing! The clan had been in an uproar, and numerous cousins, uncles and aunts had stepped in, protesting against the unnatural desire.

“You have gone mad, Butsuma!” Touka's mother had cried.

“Even the beasts do not stoop so low!”

The elders had protested most of all, and, as head of the Elder Council, Elder Noritaka's voice had been loudest among them.

“Marry your own son?! That goes against every law in the natural world! Sooner would the mountains yield to the lowly worm and the cats bray like donkeys before we would ever allow such a travesty!”

It is perhaps the only time Tobirama has been glad of the Elder's tendency to follow their own path. Though they are technically only the advisor council to the clan head, power stays with those who have had it longest, accumulating with traded favors and old earned relationships. And Elder Noritaka, in particular, has traded many and earned even more. His father may have greatly reduced the Elders' power when they warred about Kamiko, but they still held enough to utterly block his desires.

Even the clan head cannot go against a formal rebuff by the Elder Council. Even Butsuma must bend to their wishes when they are so united against him. He cannot move forward unless he wants to break with ages' old tradition and law...and the rest of the clan would revolt should that happen.

Butsuma is no fool, and he rescinded his request. Privately, Tobirama heaved a sigh of relief. The Elders were unlikely to give their approval, and such an abomination would never come to pass.

Tobirama felt like he could breathe again, and he dared hope that the madness was behind them. He dared wish that his father is returned to the sensible man he recalled.

For a while, it seemed as if that wish would come true. Senju Butsuma did not bring up the matter again, and, within a few days, Tobirama's father seemed to return to his normal self.

No more private meetings where Tobirama felt sized up like a slab of meat. No more odd requests. No more dark eyes following his every move, like an unnatural caress that he cannot shake off, no matter what he tries.

The clan (and Tobirama) collectively breathed a sigh of relief and gradually allowed themselves to relax.

Surely, they thought, sense has returned to their clan head.

Surely, they hoped, he has realized the cursed path he was so close to treading.

Surely, they prayed, he has turned away from it in revulsion.

Tobirama himself was foremost among that number, for how can he not be?

Harsh, other people describe his father, and he would agree. Stern, he has heard often, and that too, is fair. A tyrant, he has head the Elders mutter when they do not get their way, and perhaps they have reason to think so. Uncompromising, grouse some of their allies when they ask for an unfair split of joint battlefield spoils.

But Tobirama has never forgotten that it was Butsuma who argued against removing his beloved elder brother as heir after the outburst at Kawarama's funeral. Tobirama's father may have struck Hashirama for his temerity, but he did not strike at Tobirama when he stepped in-between his brother and father. And he still fought for hours against the call to remove Hashirama and have him fully punished. Harsh, uncompromising, stern and a tyrant, Senju Butsuma may be, but Tobirama deeply respects him nonetheless.

When Elder Arisu wanted to increase the clan's status with the Daimyo's court (and her family's own coffers) and sought to betroth Tobirama to a daughter of the Hyuuga despite Tobirama's reluctance, it was Butsuma who put his foot down and absolutely prohibited it.

“My son is not something to barter influence with, and I'll thank you to remember that, Elder Arisu!”

When Elder Shusuke complained about the undue leeway Kamiko had in the upbringing of her children, specifically of her having full reign over her sons' education, and cited the clan's laws pertaining to female influence, it was Butsuma who pushed forward a (slight) majority vote on the Elder Council to change those laws.

“Surely, Elders Arisu and Botan, surely the two of you, at least, understand just how outdated and ridiculous those laws are? Why, they would ban such illustrious members as yourselves from advising! They would look at you and think you lesser merely for the sex you are given at birth! Really, I think they must be living in the in the times before the Great Sage, with how backwards they are!”

“Elder Noritaka, you know Elders Daiki and Shusuke only complain because they're trying to pass the new laws! And while I'm sure they would make an exception for your grandson should Elders Arisu and Botan fail in their opposition, I'm sure they really do mean well. We could most certainly use more shinobi no mono on the front lines, and there is no reason why younger children can't join full-fledged battlefields.”

And when Tobirama had caught Hashirama at the river with Uchiha Madara, it was Butsuma who ultimately decided to keep the affair secret and away from the Elders' ears. They clashed yes, and Hashirama lost his friend, and Tobirama crossed blades with the boy who would become his greatest rival. But Hashirama had not been drawn up on the charges of treason that Tobirama knows are reasonable—are _expected_ —in such a situation. Despite Hashirama's grudge against their father, Tobirama sees more clearly.

Butsuma had protected him then, and he keeps protecting them still.

Tobirama is a dutiful son, and he knows his duty well.

Filial duty would have Tobirama owe his father his obedience and love...but he would have given that obedience and love regardless.

His father, his mother, his elder brother...these are all precious people to him, and he would do almost anything for them.

And so Tobirama found himself eager to think his father returned to him, as sane and whole as he appeared.

Surely, Tobirama whispered every night for a month, his father is himself again.

Surely, he prays to the ancestral kami, the madness has left him.

Surely, he wishes in the privacy of his mind, his father is of the right mind again and has put such an unpleasant notion away where it belongs.

But all of his hopes and wishes are for naught.

At first, it had seemed like random bad luck. Elder Arisu had contracted pneumonia and soon died thereafter.

“How strange that she seemed to have symptoms of Ataxia,” her children whispered at her funeral. “How strange that the pneumonia came on so quickly, and she behaved erratically in addition...”

...but that family had always been particularly paranoid over little things. While the other families in the clan were careful to pay their respects, they were just as careful not to pay the grieving children any mind. Grief could do strange things to a person, after all, and everyone knew it was simply bad luck, what with Lady Kamiko dying of the brain swelling fever only mere months ago and now Elder Arisu dying of pneumonia.

“The old are always more frail, and we should learn to cherish them while they are alive,” Tobirama's father had intoned.

The bad luck continued. Elder Daiki had been wandering the rooftops and, in his advanced age, tripped over a loose shingle and broke his neck in the fall.

It was not particularly odd. Elder Daiki had always looked upon the days he was an active shinobi with longing and liked to forget that he was frail and old now. His grandchildren frequently found him in dangerous places he ought not to have been, but none of their scolding ever did any good. They were younger than he, and it is not right that the elder listen to the younger.

“Wasn't that particular shingle in disarray two days ago? Didn't we already fix it? How could it have broken loose again so quickly?” A few in the clan whispered among themselves.

But still, they burned him with the necessary rites and show of regret and then moved on. They had suffered a storm recently, and storms can be harsh on newly-fixed shingles. It is not _so_ surprising.

Tobirama noticed that the shingles around that single shingle did not seem to be disturbed and spent a few days researching which enemy clan had skill in creating storms out of thin air...but he was soon called away to other matters.

Elder Botan was the next to befall misfortune. She had been experimenting with seals, as was her wont, and mistook chakra-infused ink for regular ink.

“Aunt Botan does like to keep all her inks in very similar black bottles, Cousin Tobirama. And with her eyesight being what it is, it is truly an understandable accident. I simply wished I had been there with her, to help pick out the correct bottles,” her nephew supplied when Tobirama asked him of his opinion.

However, Tobirama can't help but notice that the man had looked about nervously and refused to meet his eyes.

They gathered what little of her they could find and held a lavish funeral, for she was well-liked and her seals had saved many a shinobi no mono in days gone by. And if the murmurings increased, and suspicious glances were cast about...

What could they do? There was no likely culprit, no enemy clan that could have gotten past their defenses only to stop at murdering Elder Botan.

Surely, the clan reasoned, surely Clan Head Butsuma and all the remaining Elders would have died as well if it were an enemy infiltrator. Surely second son Tobirama would have been targeted.

And it is still possible that the three Elders had died of perfectly natural means. Shinobi no mono they may once have been, but they were old. And the old succumb easier to diseases, to falls and certainly to exploding seals gone awry.

Elder Noritaka and Elder Shusuke agreed with the mutterings and then promptly doubled their security, and Tobirama noted that the former was careful never to be alone with his father.

He had his own suspicions, but...

It was his father. It was Butsuma who always spoke of him fondly and proudly. He couldn't believe it, not without proof. He couldn't do such a disloyal thing.

He never did get proof, but when Elder Shusuke choked on a fish bone while eating dinner by himself one night and died despite all their efforts to extract the thing—

“I can't see any fish bone in there at all!”

“Well what else could it be? He was eating fish. He's choking. Be reasonable!”

“What if it's an enemy jutsu?”

“Does it _look_ or _feel_ like an enemy jutsu?”

“...no.”

\--Tobirama was forced to consider the unthinkable.

Four Elders dead. Almost everyone who comprised the power of the Elder Council. Only Elder Noritaka remained.

And despite all the favors he'd traded, despite the history of earned relationships and the friends he'd won in high positions, by himself, Elder Noritaka is no match for Senju Butsuma. Not when everyone had their suspicions (but no proof, never any proof and nothing conclusive, and how can they even _think_ to accuse the clan head of such heinous deeds without it?) but was powerless to actually act.

Deposing a clan head is no small task, and without evidence, the Daimyo would surely tear them down for such a mutinous deed. And with the threat of the Uchiha still about...it is not something they would consider at that time.

The balance of power has conclusively shifted to his father and will never again reside with the Elder Council. And Elder Noritaka...

Exactly one month after his first declaration, Senju Butsuma stalks up to Elder Noritaka again and asks.

“Do you have any objections to my marrying Tobirama?”

And this time, Elder Noritaka shakes his head in fear, his brown eyes looking at anything except Butsuma.

This time, in full view of the shocked clan and the wide, horrified crimson eyes of Tobirama himself, Elder Noritaka bows his head, long white hair obscuring his face, and acquiesces.

“You are clan head, my lord. Your will be done.”

No one says anything. No one does anything. For Senju Hashirama and Senju Touka are still on their respective missions and the rest...

The rest are practical. What is one second son compared to all their lives and the safety of the clan itself? They love their precocious 15 year old Tobirama, but they love the clan more.

And if, privately, they pray that Tobirama be delivered from his father's madness, that he finds some means of escape, that the Daimyo annuls the marriage when he gets wind of the unnatural events that have taken place in the Senju lands, they keep it to themselves.

Do not rouse the madmen, they whisper. Do not bring attention upon yourselves. Avoid Lord Butsuma's path when possible.

Would that Tobirama could follow that same advice. But the very night of Elder Noritaka's capitulation, Tobirama finds himself under house arrest, under the careful surveillance of his father. He is barred from any missions and must report himself to his father's office everyday.

All the while, merchant trains with fine silks and brocades and tailors arrive...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names and meanings according to Google:
> 
> Arisu-noble  
> Shusuke-learning to meditate  
> Botan-long life  
> Daiki-impressive or grand tree


	3. Part I: The Gifts of Senju Tobirama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dresses three, one as golden as the sun, one as silver as the moon and one as bright as the stars! And a cloak of fur and skin from every beast and fowl in the kingdom!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be busy this weekend, so this is a day early. To Live will be delayed until Sunday at the earliest due to prior obligations.

**The Gifts of Senju Tobirama**  
  
Another in the unenviable position that Tobirama finds himself in might have given into despair and cast themselves from a high location in a suitably melodramatic and (hopefully) fatal manner. Not so the second son of Senju Kamiko.

He paces for now, trapped in his quarters as he is, his kin guarding the very doors and windows to his salvation. And while it would be a simple matter for him to dispatch them and escape—how can he?

He grew up with Megumi, who stands by one side of the door. He shares meals with Haya, by the other side of the door, and taught him how to throw kunai when he was a little boy. Natsuki by one of the windows used to catch salmon by the river, grill it fresh and then sneak it to him as a midnight snack, the clever girl using only the moon for guidance in her delivery. And Haru by the other window always brought a smile to his face with his jokes and refusal to take anything too seriously—refreshing in the blood-steeped world they all live in.

Even if he simply knocks them out without alerting anyone and escapes...there is still his family and clan to think of. With Hashirama and Touka on missions from which they will not return for another five months, with all but one Elder dead, what would happen to the Senju if one out of the only two senior ranking members left disappears? He and his father are the only two remaining with the authority to lead the battlefield, and with their enemies watching for any sign of weakness, Tobirama can't leave like this. He _can't_. He would doom his clan if he did.

But neither can he marry his own father.

“That would bring down the wrath of all the kami,” he mutters to himself. Even their ancestral kami may not forgive them for such a trespass of nature.

Almost reluctantly, another thought forms in his mind. Another way of escaping, another way of fixing this situation he finds himself in...

If only Butsuma were not here to demand such a thing, if only his father weren't around to impose his will on them all...but...

“No, I won't,” he states to himself firmly. A kinslayer? A patricide? Not he! It is not an acceptable solution.

Senju Butsuma has stood by his family (until now), and Tobirama--

Tobirama won't betray him like that.

...he's only just lost his mother. Must he lose his father too?

“There must be—some—way to convince father to reconsider.”

Something. Anything!

The portion of his brain not consumed with digging a way out of this mess wonders what his guards would make of his ramblings. Perhaps they will assume him insane and report thus to this father. It would be a fine joke indeed if his father turns away from his own madness from supposed reports of Tobirama's own!

“If only.” But fate is not so kind as that, and so he shuffles back and forth on his feet, determined to find an escape from it.

To propose something so unnatural, something so against the very laws of order and morality and...the very world itself! A joining of father and son--the very idea makes his skin crawl. And his father has always been reasonable. Surely, he will come to realize it as well.

Except...four of the Elder Council are dead. And Tobirama has no doubt that it was at his father's hand, even if he hasn't been able to figure out how.

The thought stills his feet, and he runs a hand through his hair, an old habit he'd copied from Hashirama when his elder brother was agitated.

To kill all but one of the Elder Council—he can't fathom it. He has no love for them, those shinobi no mono who have long forgotten what it is like on the battlefield and think only of politics and purchasing influence through the sacrifice of other people's children (Elder Botan excepting), but they were a portion of the Senju Clan's strength. They were a bulwark against outside threats. To deliberately weaken the clan when their enemies circle like sharks scenting blood...

His father must truly be in a dark place.

There must be a way to bring him back from it. There must be! Tobirama will accept no other answer. He does not want lose his father, he does not want to endanger his cousins and aunts and uncles, and he does not want to endanger the other families in the clan! To leave now and leave everyone near leaderless, so far off from when Touka and Hashirama are to return...He might as well tear the Senju apart himself and leave the pieces for their circling enemies to scavenge.

No. Impossible.

He will not do such a thing, not if there's still a chance to turn his father from these dark twisted desires.

But what can set his mind back to rights? What can...?

He turns the question over and over in his head, trying out and discarding each solution he can think of, when his eyes fall upon the little pendant his mother had fused for him so long ago. It is nestled in its cushioned silk bed on his table (blue—Kamiko's favorite color; he'd saved up the findings he'd obtained over a year's missions, and it was worth every gem, iron scrap and ninjato he'd traded for it). Next to it lay the tiny set of scales she'd commissioned for him and the length of copper wire she'd demonstrated green fire with, but he has eyes only for the pendant.

It is his favorite, and it bears his affections openly, tiny nicks in the bronze metal from when his clumsy three year old hands dropped it, the raised edge of the sundial side snapped from the time he tumbled off a tree during tree-walking lessons. The leather cord is frayed and worn with constant use and a good pull would snap it.

Reverently, carefully, he plucks the pendant from its little container. He strokes softly over each of the little imperfections, a small fond smile just slightly tilting the corners of his lips. He turns it over and gazes fondly at the small needle swinging close to his heart.

Still pointing north, as always.

“I miss you, mother,” he whispers to the compass.

If only she had not died. If only he could still have had a few more years with her. There was still so much to learn...jutsus to create and terrify Hashirama with, experiments to test out and then have to explain the resulting explosions to the Elder Council, natural wonders to explore...

They were going to go to Mizu next. Go to Mizu and try to find evidence of an isonade and see if the shark monster's hooked tail fin can be transformed into a weapon as his mother had theorized...

His hands suddenly clench around the snapped edge of the sundial. It digs into his palm, and he relishes the ache. What is physical pain compared to the pain of losing his mother and the uncertainty of whether or not he has lost his father?

 _What wouldn't I give,_ he thinks, _to have you back mother...father?_

But he is shinobi no mono, and it is useless to waste time worrying about what-could-have-beens.

He loosens his hand and gently sets the pendant back into its little bed.

Focus, he reprimands himself. Without a plan, he may as well march himself off that tall location and swan dive to his death.

The past is tempting and sweet, but he needs to think on the what-may-be, and he is determined that it not include a wedding between he and his father.

Or his father's death.

“Or my own,” he acknowledges to himself, dryly. He has...no illusions about his situation. There is no choice available to him, only submission and surrender or fight.

And he chooses fight.

Right, he must plot and plan to win his father back. But to do that, he needs allies. Allies powerful enough to convince his father, and who his father will not be tempted or able to kill. Allies persuasive enough to bring his father out of his madness.

...like Touka and Anija.

Who won't be home for five months.

At the thought, he slumps into his chair with a groan and stares at the wooden rafters in almost resignation.

Five months...does he even have five months?

With all the merchant arriving with their trains of precious and exotic goods and with his father already deciding on the silks for his kimono... “I probably don't even have two months.”

The fabric for his kimono...

He feels ill again.

A red as dark as blood and a blue light enough to challenge the sky...such fine imported silk from their neighboring continent across the sea, and what must it have _cost_ them to afford something like that? Not to mention the seemingly endless chests of delicacies ranging from the dried anchovies of nearby Mizu all the way to the preserved kittiwake eggs of faraway Kaminari?

The items they bartered for such goods could have fed the clan for an entire winter! They could have used those items to trade for weapons to beat back their enemies! And instead, it is wasted, on this, this, this—farce—of a union.

It cannot be borne. He needs to find those allies, and he needs them now.

Suddenly, he bolts upright, his exhaustion fled from him on the heels of sudden inspiration.

Touka and Hashirama are the best and only allies he can have in this matter. And if he doesn't have five months...he'll have to _create_ five months.

He must stall.

And he knows exactly how he'll do so.

-~&~-

Later that night, he presents himself to his father's office on bent knee, his head lightly bowed in obedience and submission.

His father looks pleased, though surprised, to see him thus. “Tobirama, have you finally given up your stubbornness in this matter?”

His lips quirk slightly, a remnant of the man he used to be, and Tobirama aches seeing it. His father's true mind must be in there, somewhere. He'll dig it out.

“Please forgive me, father, for forgetting myself. I am still grieved by mother's death, and I could not bear to take her place in this way.”

Senju Butsuma frowns. The candlelight flickers briefly in his eyes, but he turns his face from his son's. “I miss her too, but the living must move on. And you are so like her...can you truly say that anyone else can take her place as you can?”

Yes. The word is on the tip of Tobirama's tongue, but he knows enough not to give voice to it.

Giving voice to his thoughts is how he ended up under house arrest in the first place.

Instead he prostrates himself.

Submission, he forces himself, though his very nature rejects such a thing. A semblance of submission and obedience, or the plan is ruined here and now!

“Father,” he begs, “before I can accept your proposal, I must ask you to grant me one desire.”

“What sort of desire?” and Butsuma's voice is dark and suspicious. The clan head of the Senju is no fool, madness or no madness, and Tobirama shudders at the sound of it. His father is a dangerous man...as the Hagoromo once learned, once upon a time.

As the Elder Council relearned recently.

He is not keen to tread in _any_ of their footsteps.

Be circumspect, he tells himself. He must allay his father's suspicions with his words alone, or he stands no chance at his plan succeeding.

“I wish to give offerings to my mother's shrine, so that her spirit may see us in the Pure Lands and bless us instead of curse us for this,” he swallows his nausea, “union.”

Please, he prays to their ancestral kami, let his father remember the woman he loved. Let that be enough to sway him.

To his great relief, his father agrees. “That does seem reasonable. What did you have in mind?”

Carefully, Tobirama clamps down on the joy welling up inside of him. He mustn't get too ahead of himself now. If he gives himself away...at this stage...

“A feathered cloak of the tennyo,” he replies immediately and dares to look his father in the eye. “A feathered cloak so that her spirit may fly about the Pure Lands and explore its entirety. You have always remarked that my curiosity came from her...so let her have this freedom of mind in death as well as in life!”

Remember, he implores his father. Remember Senju Kamiko and remember the brilliant mind she was renowned for.

And even if his father does not remember, it is no easy task to lay hands on a heavenly maiden's feather cloak.

His father considers his words. “Ambitious,” he muses, “but I did grant you your desire.”

“A robe of the fire rat,” Tobirama continues. “A robe of the fire rat so that mother may never again fear an Uchiha's katon while she travels in the Pure Lands.”

Remember, he entreats his father. Remember Senju Butsuma who loved his wife so much, he avenged her slander and injury with the death of the clan head who had wronged her.

And even if his father does not remember, the fire rats from the volcanoes across the sea are vicious and do not part easily with their skins.

“Two offerings? Still, it is not _so_ difficult.”

“The red string of fate so that she will ever be reminded of you.”

Remember, he wills his father, remember the bond the old man under the moon wove. Remember that she will ever be reminded of you, and you of her!

And even if his father does not remember, surely the Matchmaker God would not give up his red strings.

His father is beginning to frown. “Three? You begin to press your luck--”

“And the skin of a dragon!”

If all else fails, if his father does not regain his mind and somehow manages to procure the other three...a dragon is a celestial being. Surely removing one's skin _must_ be impossible.

It'd gain him five months at the very least.

His father leaps to his feet even as Tobirama's heart leaps into his throat.

“The skin of a dragon? Do you forget yourself again?!”

In response, he throws himself to his father's feet.

Submission, he repeats to himself. Obedience!

...and it is distressingly easy right now, with the dread still echoing in his bones and his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He licks his lips, then, carefully considering his next words. “Mother was wise and generous. I fear I am not as wise or generous as she.”

He takes a moment to gather himself, and then says, “the skin of a dragon is not an offering for her, but a gift for me—so that I may wrap myself in a dragon's wisdom and be a proper,” he stumbles upon the next word, “w-wife to you.”

“My thoughts are still not...wholly...swayed to your desires and with the skin of a dragon, I may finally put the past aside and learn to embrace my new role.”

Silence, and Tobirama dares to infuse his chakra to see what his father is feeling.

Anger, and he shivers at the dark crawl of its lightning up his spine.

Smoldering indignation raking his belly with its heat.

And...the cooling balm of acceptance?

“Very well,” his father agrees. “You make good arguments, my Tobirama. I will retrieve these offerings and your gift for you. I will do as you ask.”

Sheer relief rises up in him unbidden like the effervescent bubbles of sparkling sake, and he can barely keep it in check. But then, his triumph is stolen by his father's next words.

“And on the night following, you will come to my quarters--as my wife!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attributes of the items (and yes, I know only three of those items are actually items, the red string of fate isn't really supposed to be a tangle item at all...):
> 
> Feathered cloak of tennyo allows flight and legend has it that a heavenly maiden who loses hers must stay with the person who found it (more like stole it). Think the Chinese folktale that led to the Tanabata.
> 
> Robe of the fire rat is a robe made from the mythical ancient fire rats that supposedly live in a volcano in China. It's supposed to give immunity to fire.
> 
> Red string of fate ties two people together (fate) but isn't really meant to be an object like the other two. It fit too well, though, so I changed it into an object.
> 
> And dragons are known for their wisdom, so I created the thing with dragon skin. However, I was inspired by looking at Lion Dances.


	4. Part I: The Bride's Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The princess flees from her father and seeks shelter in a neighboring kingdom...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus, the end of part I. As usual, please let me know if you spot any errors.

**The Bride's Escape**  
  
The following day, his father leaves with a small force of the clan's loyal to locate the offerings Tobirama had requested. He assigns the rest of those loyal to him to watch over the clan and to guard his son from enemies...or so he says. Neither Tobirama nor the rest of the clan has any doubt that the true motive is to keep Tobirama from escaping during Butsuma's absence.

He need not have bothered. With their forces depleted, Tobirama would be consigning his friends and family to death or slavery should he choose to flee now...and that, he cannot do. He spends the first few days of his father's absence urging Natsuki to suggest to the new Elder Council that they order more fortifications be built along the perimeter. It is a popular suggestion, given how nervous everyone is with so many high profile members absent, but Tobirama has no delusions as to their efficacy.

Should their enemies attack, they will be destroyed. The fortifications and their remaining forces will be able to hold off an attack for a few days, but nothing beyond that. At most, they will have bought enough time to get the children out safely to their allied clans. But if their enemies combine forces...

It is a dire thought, and it closes Tobirama's eyes to the silent pleas he sees from his closest and dearest. They would have him escape and save himself and damn them. As much as he appreciates the sentiment, as much as he's grateful for their consideration and love...he cannot do so. He will not do so.

Hashirama and Touka are still months from returning, and he is loyal to his clan.

So he spends his days in the guard of his father's most trusted, infusing his chakra to sense any incoming attack and helping to arrange fortifications and his evenings praying to their ancestral kami at their shrine, begging that their enemies not attack and, if they must attack, not attack _together_.

One moon rises, reaches its zenith and then fades into nothing.

As their enemies hold back, he begins to wonder at their luck. Surely, he thinks, the Uchiha and the Hagoromo must have noticed their depleted forces. Surely, their spies would have reported that the clan head, Hashirama _and_ Touka along with a number of lesser-ranked skilled shinobi no mono were all gone from the clan compounds?

A month is sufficient to ready their armies. Why were their enemies silent and distant?

It is not until he overhears Megumi's conversation with a scion of the lesser families that he begins to understand.

“A curse?” Megumi's light voice asks.

“Ah,” affirms the man's deep voice. “They say that we are cursed, starting with Lord Butsuma and spreading down all through—”

“—what a load of rubbish! I certainly don't feel cursed. How in the world did they come up with that?”

“What else could explain Lord Butsuma's madness. He courts the anger of our ancestral kami, of _all_ of the kami—though lesser than our own they may be—in this lunacy. Marrying his own son...!”

“Quiet! Do not speak ill of the clan head so brazenly. Do you want to die? There are still those loyal to him about...and we cannot afford infighting!”

Megumi speaks sense, for all that she is two years younger than Tobirama, and Tobirama moves away from the door.

So...that is why there has been no attack.

No one is fool enough to chance their clans being cursed by the kami. A military gain is a short-term advantage, even if the target clan is wiped out—new enemies will simply take the place of the old and no material advantage lasts forever. A curse, though, a curse lasts generations, if not for all eternity. A curse means the misfortune will travel through the family lines and even a person's great-great-grandchildren will not escape it until it is lifted.

And, due to clan warfare, the entire continent is short on Buddhist monks.

So all stay away from the Senju for now: from the neutral clans that they normally trade with to enemies such as the Uchiha or the Hagoromo. Even the merchant trains have scattered, once they learned of the rumors. If it were not for their large stores of rice, dried fish and pickled vegetables and their client clans (who cannot escape the association), they would have starved before the first month was over.

Tobirama is torn about the rumors. On the one hand, they have likely been the salvation of his clan thus far. On the other hand...

If the rumors persist and no one will do business with them, they will be doomed anyways. Even their client clans will soon begin to tug away from their influence. He can only hope that they last until Hashirama and Touka return, and they can put to rest the absurd notion that they are cursed.

And perhaps there is a more...personal...reason he is not fond of the rumors: he is tempted now. If their enemies are frightened of being cursed and do not attack, he can leave. He can escape his father's madness, and...

(He wants to flee so badly, he's turning towards his door before he even registers the motion. He has to force himself to stop, to turn back to his table, to his chair and try to drown out the thoughts, the yearning for freedom. He's going stir-crazy, feeling restrained in a way he has never been before, and his rooms are feeling less and less like a home and more and more like a...)

He forcefully suppresses his nervous energy and reminds himself of the perils that remain.

There is still the clan to think of. There is still the chance that one enemy will become confident enough to attack, despite the rumors.

Can he really leave his precious people in peril?

“Hold it together,” he orders himself and thinks to Haya's face and Haru's laugh. He wills himself to remember Natsuki's toddler, only three years old. “Just hold it together until Anija and Touka return.”

-~&~-

Another three months passes, and Tobirama begins to hope that his plan has worked and either his father will be sufficiently delayed until Hashirama and Touka return or he will come to his senses when he does not locate the offerings.

 _Just one more month_ , he reminds himself. _Just one more until Anija and Touka are home. Or maybe Father will give up or be reminded of Mother._

Salvation is so close, he can almost taste it.

And his closest seem to sense it too. Haru is cracking jokes through the window again, and Natsuki is bold enough to actually come inside and keep him company. She brings a grilled fish the first time (she remembered...just like before), and he almost couldn't hold back his tears of relief seeing it. Even Megumi, more stern than the others, seem to soften and turn a blind eye to Natsuki leaving her post.

Another week goes by...

...and Tobirama awakens to a shout.

“Lord Butsuma has returned!”

His heart jumps up to his throat, a _thump-thump-thump_ that almost seems to deafen him. For a moment, all he can do is stare wide-eyed at his covers, before, in a rush of energy, he leaps to his feet, throws on his yukata and rushes to the door.

But before can open it, it flies open, and his father steps inside.

“Tobirama,” his father greets him, his burning eyes caressing Tobirama's disheveled form before striding up to him. Tobirama just manages to keep himself from flinching as Butsuma grasps him by the shoulders and kisses him gently on the forehead.

“Father,” he returns, pulling away from his grasp— _too much, it is too much_ —and dropping into a light bow. “I hope your travels have born fruit?”

A chuckle, and then his father gestures at the man who followed him, Tadashi, one of the loyal who accompanied his father on his travels. Tadashi carefully lays down the bag he had been carrying, and Tobirama's father opens it with a flourish.

“See here, my son, see here your offerings and your requests, all met!”

And then, before Tobirama could pull stunned eyes away from the opened bag, before there's even a chance for the dread forming at the pit of his stomach to overwhelm him, his father turns his face towards him and whispers in his ear, “that was the last kiss I give to you as a father. Tomorrow will be the first I give to you as a husband.”

As his father and Tadashi leaves, Tobirama stumbles over to his chair and collapses within it. All the strength has left him, and he can only stare at the colorful offerings with horrified eyes.

-~&~-

It takes a full hour for Tobirama to rouse himself and, as he infuses his chakra, he can feel Natsuki's concern, Haru's crushing despair and even his father's righteous triumph.

It's this last that drives life and fury back into him.

Righteous? _Righteous_?!

As if anything so heinous, so unthinkable can ever merit the word!

And to have been so close to his plans coming to fruition, so close to when Anija and Touka would return and add enough political power to revolt...

A part of him wonders how his father even managed to obtain it all—the treasures of the kami themselves! They were supposed to be unobtainable. They _are_ unobtainable. But...

He had _sensed_ that they were real. The energies they give off...they could be nothing else but real!

He sobs and punches the wood of his desk, unheeding of the pain that shoots up his arm.

He can't marry his father. He can't.

He thinks about walking to his father's room on the morrow, dressed in the silken kimono his father had chosen for him, eyes downcast and ready to be pressed onto the futon as he is...is...

The bile rushes up his throat, and it's all he can do to prevent himself from vomiting.

No!

Unthinkable!

He would rather slit his own throat here and now.

He'll...

He casts frenzied eyes around his room—his _prison_ —looking for something, _anything_ that he can use to escape from his dreaded fate. Spying his kunai on his table, he grabs it, yanks it to his throat and...

His hand shakes.

He drops the weapon, his hand instead going to claw at his own cheek instead.

He can't.

Even despite everything, even despite what he faces, he doesn't want to die. Not yet. Not while there's still other options.

His father's death, or his escape.

At this thought, stillness comes over him, and he stares blankly, unseeing, at his reflection in the dropped kunai. He doesn't notice the fine tremors reflected in its surface, nor the tears sliding down his tortured, frozen face, splashing against the grey metal.

Escape...abandoning his clan, his friends, his relatives. Abandoning his Anija and cousin Touka, both scheduled to be home in just three weeks.

His father's death...murdering the man who brought him life, the man who held him and fought for him and was a fair, clever leader...until his mother died.

“There really is no choice is there?” he asks himself mournfully.

-~&~-

The following evening, he dresses himself carefully in his father's chosen kimono. The deep red silk highlights the paleness of his hair and skin. The dark blue obiage complements the pale blue obi—both a shocking contrast to the red. And a bright gold obijime brings out the fine flecks of gold surrounding the hydrangea embroidery at the sleeves and hem.

He slips into the blue and black brocade of the zori and looks at himself in the mirror.

He looks like a ghost, already dead to the world.

Ruefully, he considers if that isn't the truth after all.

A part of him wants to stop, wants to take off the finery and leave, but...

 _You have made your choice_ , he reminds himself.

He takes a deep breath, then, steeling himself, and marches resolutely through the door. As he passes underneath the frame, he can hear a muffled sob.

“Thank you, Haya,” he whispers to the distraught boy. “Thank you, Megumi. Thank you both for watching over me.”

“Tobirama-san,” Megumi whispers, shame painting her face into a grimace.

He shakes his head, the small golden comb kanzashi tinkling against his face.

“You two do not need to stand guard anymore. I go to do my duty.”

He glides past them, then, without a backwards glance—

(do not look back, do not regret, march forward, do your duty)

—and turns precisely at the corner, making his way to his father's house down the narrow little lane. 

At the entrance, he nods to Tadashi. Tadashi bows his head and draws the door back, and he sweeps inside. There is no one in the greeting room—his father will be waiting for him in his personal quarters.

In his personal quarters, where he'll...where he'll...

He steps towards those very rooms, his heart pounding against his chest and his thoughts whirling like a thousand restless birds. His palms break out in a cold sweat, and he rubs them absently against the handkerchief in his sleeve.

 _Just a little farther_ , he tells himself. _Just a little more._

Right before the door, he feels his knees begin to buckle and is forced to support himself against the wall. His heart beats so loudly in his ear, he can barely think.

 _Courage_.

At that thought, he gathers the vestiges of calm within himself and weaves it into a shroud about him.

Courage to do what is necessary.

His hands tighten on the kunai hidden in the sleeve of his kimono...and, with renwed determination, he walks in.

“Father,” he drops into a graceful bow.

His father gasps, and he feels hands cupping his chin, raising his eyes to meet Butsuma's own.

“How beautiful you are,” his father murmurs. “How like your mother.”

It is all that Tobirama can do to hold back the grimace that seeks to overtake his face, and his last hope dies.

He really has no choice.

A sharp _thwack_ with the butt of his kunai against the jawline, and Butsuma— _don't think of him as father, he is Butsuma now_ —goes down without even a single cry. He switches the kunai in his hand, holds it up to Butsuma's throat and...and...

No! Why can't he do it? Why can't he kill him?

His grip tightens on the metal, and he tries to force his hand to move, tries to force himself to slice. Just one quick, forceful strike. Butsuma is already unconscious and won't feel a thing. It would be a merciful death.

His hands shakes and...

He can't.

He can't do it. He still loves his father. Despite everything.

He kneels there for a few moments, hand still painfully gripping the kunai. “How pitiful you are,” he laughs to himself. “How wretched.”

He can't kill his father. He can't kill himself.

All that's left is to—

“Flee.”

-~&~-

He slips out through the window. No one loyal to his father is a sensor, and if he can keep from being discovered...

He slides back in through the door to his quarters and hurriedly grabs the scales, the copper wire and the pendant off his table. He looks around hurriedly for a bag, for something to place them in...and spots the offerings still on the floor.

He studies it for a few scant seconds. The leather is sturdy and will prove handy and—

His infused chakra flares, and he curses, feeling his father's loyalists begin to stir.

So, they've found him.

Quickly, he stuffs the items into the bag, snatches his happuri and forces it in as well, and has just enough time to grab his kunai and his ninjato off the wall before the chakra signatures begin to close in on him.

He'd hoped he would have time to change, but he has no more time.

With a leap, kimono, zori and all, he dashes out of his old home, now prison, and towards the clan gates. He hears shouts and cries behind him. Orders for him to “Stop!”

Stop?

No. If he stops, he might as well die. And he's not yet ready to die yet.

He ignores them all, the adrenaline pulsing through his body and pushing him ever faster, ever more determined.

He is close, so close, but his pursuers are also close. A kunai flies by him, slicing through the sleeve and scoring his arm underneath it, and he changes his run into a choppy zigzag, swerving around like a drunken deer, avoiding the projectiles aimed to incapacitate, rather than kill.

(If he must fail, then he would rather die. He's not ready for it...but it is better than living as a captive of his father.)

He nears a dead end and suddenly swerves into it. A touch of chakra to his feet, and he's leaping gracefully up, up, up over the tall wall separating the houses. He rolls as he lands, pushing right back to his feet from the momentum and dashes straight up to the main road.

The main road that leads to the gates.

He looks back then and smiles grimly at the sight of his pursuers struggling to catch up to him.

Good. Not for nothing is he the fastest shinobi no mono of his generation, even in a kimono and zori.

But as he nears the main gates, he sees something. Someone. A bit of infused chakra and...

His thoughts screech to a halt, and his feet nearly follow suit as well.

Elder Noritaka, the only remaining of the old Elder Council. Elder Noritaka, the head of the new Elder Council, still powerful in his own right, even after the humiliation from Tobirama's father.

What was Elder Noritaka doing at the gates? What was the respected Elder doing up at all? Where were the normal guards?

“If you're wondering where the guards are,” Elder Noritaka says, “I dismissed them.”

Tobirama narrows his eyes. “Are you going to force me to kill you?” he asks, panting.

The Elder looks at him evenly, and then looks at the men and women closing in on him. He smiles, a lopsided cynical smile. “No,” he replies.

And then he pushes open the gates and steps aside. “Go,” he commands.

Tobirama does not need to be told twice.

He runs, and he runs, and he runs clear out of Senju territory.

(And if he wonders if Elder Noritaka will be punished, if he wonders if Elder Noritaka paid for his unexpected rebellion with his life...well...they are both shinobi no mono.)

Northeast. That's where he'll go. Northeast, to Mizu. They won't think he would have left the country. They won't look for him in Mizu. And maybe...maybe he can finally see an isonade, just like he and his mother had planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: no update for next week since I will be busy the whole of Friday and the weekend.
> 
> Meaning of names:
> 
> Tadashi - loyal
> 
> Additional notes:
> 
> \- At some point in Japan, weddings became more formalized and ceremonial. I wasn't sure at which point the switch happened, so I'm going by the older traditions here, where marriage is more like living together and having everyone acknowledge you as married rather than anything involving structured and formal ceremonies.
> 
> \- Also, if you're wondering how Tobirama is able to run in a kimono at all, the evolution of the kimono is fairly interesting. It was based off of Chinese Tang imperial dress, and then slowly evolved to have fewer layers and become more tight-fitting. So what Tobira is wearing here is probably something in between the very loose (but still very difficult to run in, all those layers!) early styles and the tight, close-fitting modern style (which is also very impossible to really run with--you feel like the filling in a burrito). I'm hand-waving it all away, because I find it funny to imagine Tobirama outrunning everyone _in a kimono and zori_!
> 
> \- Also, I based my kimono design off of a real vintage furisode I own (gift), with some tweaks.
> 
> Terminology:
> 
> Obijime: the cord that goes around the obi
> 
> Obiage: the soft thin silken scarf-like thing that goes underneath the obi and peeks out, accentuating and adding to the prettiness of the obi
> 
> kanzashi: hair decorations. Early on in Japan, they were rods and sticks and thought to ward off evil, then they got influenced by Chinese hair decorations and became more elaborate and decorative, then in the Heian period, everything that goes in the hair got called kanzashi (so it wasn't just sticks, it was also combs and stuff like that), and then in the Edo time period, they got super elaborate and pretty and really exploded in variety. Since this is the warring states (before Edo, way after Heian), I figure hair combs would also be called kanzashi at this time.


	5. Part II: The Uchiha's Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince travels in the woods and...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a segment at the end because I started writing the next chapter and then felt it fit much better with this one. Oh well.
> 
> Also updated the notes at the end.

**The Uchiha's Mission**  
  
“A long-term mission,” Uchiha Madara grumbles to no one in particular. Of all things to find himself stuck on, it's a long-term, kami-cursed mission to bloody Mizu no Kuni!

Normally, he would not be sent out for so long. As the heir to the Uchiha clan, he is too useful in the fight against their principal enemies, the Senju. His katons and sharingan are a match for Senju Hashirama's mokuton, and all in the clan knows that, with Madara to keep Hashirama occupied, their less skilled clansmen have a chance to fight against enemies more their equal.

Even if Hashirama wishes for peace, he is still an enemy shinobi no mono who has his own clan to think of, his own brother and people to protect. Anyone facing him that's not Madara would likely end up dead regardless of the Senju's pacifist tendencies.

However, with the current situation with the Senju—civil war of all things, the infamous madness of Senju Butsuma must surely have spread to their elders and other clansmen—the situation at home is more relaxed. They need not fear the Senju taking advantage of Madara's absence with their attention diverted to nearer and more pressing matters. And while a civil war would normally be the best time to press their own advantage, a curse of madness is nothing to scoff at.

The recently returned Senju Hashirama (according to their spies) and his faction against the mad Senju Butsuma and his faction? Son against father, breaking all the morals and ethics of filial piety? Father seeking to bed his younger son, breaking all the natural laws?

His clan is keeping _far_ from that tangled mess.

It can be nothing less than madness, and most agree that it must be a supernatural madness.

Even Madara's father agrees on _that_ particular piece of wisdom, for all that he would normally wish to wipe out their enemies. And even if Madara privately thinks it's all a bunch of stupidity dressed as custom...

Well. He wants his clan to be safe _and_ he still wants that long-ago dream of peace with Senju Hashirama. If civil war will remove Senju Butsuma from the land of the living—because Madara certainly thinks he's overstayed his welcome in this realm—and weaken the Senju clan enough such that Hashirama will broach a peace treaty that would have more favorable terms for the Uchiha once Madara succeeds his father, then...

Let it not be said that Madara would turn down a padded jacket, even in summer. A gift is a gift, no matter how much he pities his once (and hopefully future) friend.

...And this all means that Madara has to go to the land known for shinobi no mono who specialize in the one thing strong against his own element.

Because those bastards are willing to trade a year's worth of dried fish, dried seaweed, and, most importantly, _salt_ , for a skilled user of katon to keep watch over their lighthouse fires. And they'll even forgo asking for an equal trade of the Uchiha clan's coveted Indigo dyes.

It's too lucrative a deal to ignore.

And Madara gets that. He really does. He's the clan heir... _of course_ he gets the economics of why this mission is so important, and why they absolutely must send someone (because where else is the Daimyo of Mizu going to find a shinobi no mono as skilled in katon as the Uchiha clan, known almost as much for their fireballs as their sharingan?).

It's just that...why _him_? He _hates_ Mizu. With a passion.

He groans and adjusts the traveling pack on his back.

“Lovely,” he mutters, scaring away a nearby squirrel digging around for its buried nut—the sixth he's scared off in the last hour alone. “Just lovely. If only Izuna didn't have such an adorable sad little face when he's trying to weasel out of a mission he doesn't like...”

But Izuna does, and he despises Mizu just as much as Madara does. Probably more, truth be told, since he's even more reliant on his Grand Fireball jutsu than Madara.

And Madara has always been weak to his little brother and his sad puppy-dog eyes.

He snorts.

What a sight he must make, the most powerful Uchiha in the clan, the bloody clan heir, trekking sullenly through the deep forests of Hi no Kuni, scaring every squirrel from here all the way to the blasted shores of Mizu, just so that he can spend a year tending a stupid fire in the stupid land, a task with no risk of danger at all and that any half-decent katon user could do. All because they specifically requested either Madara or Izuna.

“And they didn't even have the decency to make it a trap of some sort!” he grouses.

His father's spies looked (because it really, really sounded like a trap), and apparently Mizu just never heard of the proverb “do not use a cannon to kill a mosquito.”

They are actually ridiculous enough to ask for Madara or Izuna to tend a fire! For a year!

A year of boredom. A year of halfheartedly tending a flame while he's stuck out in the middle of nowhere, a small little island that can only be reached by boat or by swimming—only for Suiton users and Madara shudders to think of all that water and the creatures that live in it.

The thought of an isonade coming up gracefully underneath the boat he'll have to go on...his only warning when the small vessel capsizes, before he's battered with the tiny metallic barbs lining its fins and then rent into shreds in the great maw of the huge creature...

He shudders.

No, don't even think of it, he orders himself.

...it's possible he might have a phobia of deep sea creatures. Might. Just a little.

Just...the thought of all that water. It's so big and expansive, and it would _engulf_ any and all of his attempts at katon. He can't compare to a force like that. He doesn't want to be _in_ it. Or surrounded by it.

“If only mother hadn't been so fond of horror stories.”

Don't think about the isonade, don't think about the isonade...

Oh, who was he kidding? He's not going to be able to _stop_ himself from thinking of the sea monster for the entire trek there! That sea monster and others like it...waiting in the deep...waiting for his little vessel when he tries to cross over to the island where the lighthouse is located...

Grimly, he forges on, as if he were a soldier marching to his death instead of a shinobi no mono on a quest with relatively little danger, visions of great maws full of teeth and water so deep it's black spinning all about him as he forces himself to put one foot in front of the next.

-~&~-

A day later, and he's on the pier at the edge of the water, staring at the tiny little rowboat that looks like it would capsize from a sneeze and the almost decrepit little fisherman who swears he's the best there is and will gladly take him across for some of the rice Madara has with him in his little pack.

Fuck this shit.

Fuck Izuna's puppy-dog eyes, fuck Madara's favorite dried fish, fuck the Daimyo of Mizu, fuck the lighthouse and FUCK THIS STUPID MISSION!

Madara hates it. He hates it _so_ much.

“We're going to go across...in _that_?!” he bites out.

The fisherman—kami-sama, the man looks 80!—nods in pride.

“She's very sea-worthy. She's served me for many years.”

The old man hobbles over to the bow of the...vessel.

“This is where I usually keep my cormorant! We make a great pair. She catches me a great many fish!”

Madara eyes him suspiciously. It would be just his luck to end up with a _crazy_ old fisherman for his transportation across the ocean instead of just an old fisherman.

“Your...cormorant?”

The man nods, his dark eyes bright with joy. “Yes, she is a true beauty. But since we are not fishing today, I will not be bringing her.”

Well, thank all the kami for that!

“Although...she usually does warn me when a Wani is near, so we may run into one this time.”

Madara gulps. A... “A sea dragon?!”

The man nods again. “Yes, there has been sighting of one recently. But it must be a special one for it sometimes has some feathers as well. That is most atypical. The other fishermen have said they have seen it fly over the island where you're headed to, and that it is a magnificent beast that helps them get more fish.”

The man pouts. “I think it must be a son of Owatatsumi since it is so helpful. I have not been so lucky to see it, but perhaps my luck may change today? It would be nice to be blessed by it...”

Madara stares at the man.

He's going to have a fucking heart-attack. He just knows he will. “Fly _over_ the island where _I'll_ be staying?!”

He thinks of a Wani, of its long sinuous body, of its gigantic mouth, full of deadly teeth, of its powers over the sea and water—why water, anything but water!—and its capricious nature. Potentially a son of Owatatsumi, of Ryujin, the great Dragon God of the Sea himself.

How is this getting _worse_?!

The old man does not seem to notice Madara's growing discomfort.

“Oh yes, you'll certainly see it from time to time. How lucky you will be...they all say it's a true beauty, with a long sinuous body, pretty blue-green scales all over it, and sometimes with the lovely feathers as well! Almost like it's wearing a tennyo's cloak!”

The man seems to consider his words. “Ah, but how ridiculous is that? A Wani would not need a tennyo's cloak to fly. I think the other fishermen just had too much sake...”

Madara swallows. “Are you _sure_ about this?”

“Yes, the others were quite insistent, but I think a Wani cannot have feathers—”

“—No!” Madara interrupts impatiently. “I mean, are you sure there's a Wani on the island I'm to stay in for an entire year?!”

Maybe it's not too late to turn back. Surely they can just...turn the mission down.

No big deal. They turn down missions all the time. Just...small ones. Ones deemed too dangerous and ones where the cost-benefit analysis does not come out in his clan's favor. Ones no one particularly cares to take.

But...a year's worth of dried fish. And seaweed. And the oh so precious _salt!_ The famous salt of Mizu, its like to be found nowhere else! The worth of all those goods...his clan will be secure in their food for an entire year! And they can store the salt for a long time—not to mention gift some to the Fire Daimyo to help secure his favor. The _value_ of all that...

Madara can almost taste the broth from the dried fish in his mouth, just that slight hint of salt and all of the subtle umami, making the perfect oden in the winter...

The man finally seems to notice Madara's pained expression. “Oh, do not worry! This Wani is said to be helpful and good. I am sure it will not eat you.”

Madara blinks.

He stares at the man's too wide smile, his beloved “sea-worthy” vessel, his talk of his cormorant...

...yeah, no. He is not convinced.

But, he reminds himself. He is a proud shinobi no mono, an Uchiha no less! And there is the perfect oden waiting for him if—when! it will be _when_ —he succeeds. And he will do his duty by his clan...even if it means getting on a rickety boat with a crazy fisherman for a captain, potentially getting capsized and eaten by an isonade, and most definitely coming face to face with a fucking sea dragon, of all things.

How is this his life?

-~&~-

A 90 degree movement of the sundial shadow later (though with neither sundial nor sun nor even a steady even surface with which to read, he really can't be sure), Madara is clutching at the small piece of wood that _used_ to be the boat and just...prays.

The storm had come out of nowhere, a sudden darkening of the sky, ominous clouds the color of slate rolling in like a futon user had summoned them. And then the sky had opened and started pouring, hard pellets of rain that battered Madara's shivering, miserable form and even darkened the optimism of his fisherman guide.

They would have turned back but they were already more than halfway there and since they were already in the midst of the heavy storm, it seemed prudent to just...push on.

It wasn't like there were any better options at that point.

Of course, as the proverb goes, “blessings come along alone, troubles often come together,” and the winds started then, a violent strong gale that tossed the boat back and forth, rocking it with such vigor that Madara was sure he was going to hurl into the waters. Both of them, Madara and the fisherman, held onto the sides, trying their best to ride it out, but then wave after monstrous wave crashed upon them, and a final large black mountain of water shatters the small boat they are on, and throwing both of its unfortunate passengers into the churning darkness.

Madara blacked out for a moment, but the piece of ship he had been clutching must have must have splintered into one of the larger pieces of driftwood because when he came to, his head is just above the water and his fingers and arms are almost numb from the life-squeezing grip he still has on it. He's still hugging it as if his damn life depends upon it.

It probably does.

There's black water all around him, land nowhere in sight. The sea is heaving, tumultous, heavy waves still pounding on him, trying to rip him in two, trying to drag him under.

“Please,” he prays. “Ebisu-sama, please get me out of here.”

Salt water forces itself into his mouth and nose, burning his lungs and he chokes, spluttering and crying and trying desperately to breathe, but more and more keep coming and... and, oh kami-sama, he's going to drown, he's going to be pulled into a watery death and become a funayurei, a sea ghost, in this forsaken ocean and then he'll find Izuna and the rest of his clan and bring them down with him... His sight is going. His numb fingers and arms are loosening, he feels the driftwood being pulled away from him, and he feels his sodden, heavy body sink, sink, sink into the terrifying blackness all around...

...and just before he goes under completely, just before his vision blackens, he sees a vein of blue-green, a long ribbon of the beautiful colors of the sky itself bolting towards him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I dipped more into Japanese folklore and mythology here. A wani is basically like a sea dragon. An isonade (mentioned in previous chapters) is a giant sea monster shark with fins like a cheese grater and a hooked monstrous tail.
> 
> Also, oden is a very tasty soup typically eaten in winter months. Dashi stock is used for it (though originally it was apparently miso), and dashi stock can be made from dried fish (or mushrooms or kelp).
> 
> Cormorant fishing is also a thing in China, Japan and Korea (they train a cormorant to grab the fish and then tie a rope around its neck...the rope is loose enough so that it can eat the small fish, but tight enough so that the big fish gets brought back to the fisherman, where it was then regurgitated). Or was, in the ancient times. It's more used in the tourism industry now, I believe.
> 
> Also, if anyone's wondering, I'm using commodity money in the form of trade items because the Sengoku Jidai was apparently during the time where the standard form of currency was Chinese coinage...and since China seems to play a much less important role in Kishimoto's world (but you still have the factionalism and feudalism and lack of a central authority that would make a single accepted currency difficult), I went with a mix of earlier versions of commodity money (such as rice, gold dust, hemp cloth) and pure trade (dried fish, salt, spices, etc).


	6. Part II: The Lighthouse's Cook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...meets the disguised princess. He sees her cloak of all-kinds-of-fur and, repulsed by her and yet persuaded by her pleads, he installs her in his household as a servant to help the cook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note, I added an additional section to the end of last chapter after I first posted it last week. Please read that section so this chapter makes sense.

**The Lighthouse's Cook**  
  
He wakes to warm rays of sun upon his face, the gentle break of waves lapping at the shore, and the cries of seabirds in the distance—petrels, loons and auks. For a moment, he finds he can do nothing but stare at the soft blue of the sky, framed by drifting dandelion-heads of white fluffy clouds. He can't quite remember where he is or how he got here. All he remembers is—

_Fire in his lungs as he struggles to breathe. Churning black waves and the violent rush of water pounding him down into the ravenous dark._

He leaps up with a gasp, eyes wild, scanning his surroundings furiously. No sign of the poor old fisherman who had been ferrying him. No sign of anyone that he can see. A quick use of his sharingan, and he can scan no one for any significant distance. Infusing chakra to sense also reveals nothing of import.

He is alone, aside from the seabirds and the surf, and his thoughts darken for a moment, thinking to the eccentric old man. Madara hadn't particularly cared for him, but he held no animosity either. At the end, the man had been rather harmless. Just another strange, elderly fisherman by Mizu's treacherous coast. Had that poor old man drowned? Was Madara the sole survivor?

But if so...How had he made it here, wherever here is? How had he gone from drowning to...?

His sudden movement knocks over a slender bamboo container by his feet, and he stares at it blankly for a moment, his eyes slowly taking in the small trickle of liquid escaping its carved lip at the top. After a brief moment, he rights it and tastes one finger—his suspicions are correct, it's clear, fresh water, not a hint of salt except what was already on his fingers—and looks around to have his eyes fall upon a small cloth-bound—furoshiki, his sluggish brain recognizes—pack. After a brief examination—dried fish and squid, still in good condition and perfectly edible and packaged for a journey—he rocks back on his heels and considers his situation.

There is no one about...he's already determined that. For all that he can see, he is alone. But clearly, someone had found him and rescued him. Found him and rescued him...and then left him water and food for a journey of some sort. Likely healed him, since he ought to be experiencing some of the nastier effects of near-drowning. And then disappeared.

“But why?” he mutters to himself. And why leave him? Why not take credit for their good deed?

He struggles to see if he can remember anything of how he arrived here or what his savior may have looked like, but all he can recall is a vein of deep blue-green, like the shells of the abalone that Izuna favors. And that is about as useless as not remembering anything at all.

For a moment, he considers the possibility that his savior had a nefarious purpose in rescuing him and leaving him like this, but he soon sets it away. Any such purpose would have been better achieved had the man (or woman) stayed to take credit and demand a reward of some sort. Simply leaving him without a need for thanks for acknowledgement would not further any such.

Not that he feels ashamed for considering these things—he is shinobi no mono, and he must consider every angle, no matter how distasteful or ridiculous.

He frowns, not used to feeling quite so helpless and ignorant, his life saved by a mysterious someone else's unknown hand, a blank in his memory where there should have been clarity. It's not as bad as when he had been drowning—he shudders at the memories that invokes—but it's still not pleasant.

Well, he decides. He certainly isn't going to gain any clarity just standing stupidly around!

With a careful heave, he lifts the pack into his arms, mindful of the multiple bamboo containers full of potable water.

He glances about, deciding on a random direction—that bamboo grove looks good...it's away from the ocean, for one—and he begins to head there. He's not going to putter around on a beach for a day, waiting for the weather to suddenly turn on him like before. He needs to figure out where he is, how he can get to his destination for this miserable mission he's been assigned and, if all else fails, at least find shelter in case storm clouds blow in out of nowhere. And the bamboo grove will help with that at the least.

Besides...the bamboo grove looks to turn into a bamboo mountain of sorts. He'll be able to get a better vantage point once he gets to the top and then make better plans once he has more of a birds-eye view of whatever it is he's trapped on.

“Please don't let it be some random island in the middle of nowhere,” he mutters under his breath, his voice wry and resigned.

(Knowing his luck, it's exactly that—some random island scattered in the multitude of random islands in Mizu—and he's probably surrounded by water to boot! He's really had enough of rain and water and the sea. If he can just get to the actual stupid island he needs to be in and find the lighthouse he's supposed to station himself at, then he'll be happy...or at least not feeling homicidally inclined.)

“Thank the ancestral kami that whoever saved me had the decency to leave me provisions,” he says, looking thoughtfully at the pack in his hand and the bamboo containers full of potable water. Enough food to last for a long while, actually, judging by the weight of the pack and the fact that dried fish and squid is rather light. Enough water to last for three days at the most.

He frowns as he counts the containers. “Mother was right,” he groans. “I should have learned some suiton.”

Suiton would have allowed him to desalinate the ocean if he needed, drawing the water away from the salt and sickness causing agents within it, purifying it enough for a man to drink. Alas, it is rather late for him to magically have those abilities now, and so he must hope to find a nearby source of drinkable water if he is to survive.

At the thought, he grits his teeth and steels his spine. He is shinobi no mono. He will find a way. Maybe he'll even find the person who saved him and maybe _they'll_ be able to ferry him to his destination...or at least direct him to clean fresh water.

-~&~-

He heaves to the top and...stares.

No way.

No fucking way.

He blinks again, almost unable to believe his eyes, but...

Is he dreaming? Has the kami (all of them, not just his own ancestral ones) finally decided to show him favor?

He gapes at the sight before him, at the strong foundation of stones at the bottom, at the graceful curve of the wooden middle, at the pagoda top with its beautiful arched corners, dark and forbidding, towering over him like some sort of tall tree, stark against the green of the bamboo trees surrounding him.

It's a lighthouse. It's possibly even _The_ lighthouse he's supposed to be at.

What are the odds of that?

He spots a glint of metal near the entrance, a sign of some sort, and he jogs up close, leaning in and...yup. It actually _is_ the damn lighthouse he's supposed to be, with the attendant's house right beside it.

Apparently the odds are rather good!

He stands there, staring at it silently, too amazed to even move.

Really, he's not used to being so lucky. These things don't happen to him. They happen to other people, and he does not actually know what to do when confronted with things going his way.

...How is he supposed to feel annoyed when the stars actually align for him?

...Maybe...maybe things won't quite be as bad as he's imagining? Maybe this mission isn't cursed after all, and his stay at the lighthouse will actually be somewhat pleasant?

-~&~-

Two turns of the hourglass later, after he's removed his pack into the lighthouse proper and explored the grounds somewhat, he revises his opinion.

Nope, nope, nope. This mission is doomed. Very much doomed.

He scrutinizes the dark haired boy scowling at him

“Look, I'm not trespassing!” he exclaims, exasperated.

“Oh? Well, I certainly wasn't informed that anyone would be joining me!”

Just his luck...of course the—whoever it is—wasn't told beforehand of his arrival...

“I'm the new keeper of the fire for a year—they requested for me personally!”

Well, perhaps not specifically him, it was choice of either himself or Izuna, but it was _almost_ the same as asking for him in person.

“I don't believe you,” the boy huffs, his dark eyes flashing in annoyance—and really, for someone already grating on Madara's nerves, does he have to be _quite_ so attractive? Not that Madara is noticing that...

He grinds his teeth, tearing his eyes away from the boy's (very fine) bone structure and the arch of his pale cheek and digging his hand into his shirt to take out the (thankfully waterproofed well secured) request from Mizu's Daimyo.

“Here,” he says, thrusting the scroll in front of the boy's eyes.

The boy rolls his eyes and takes it, looking over it quickly, his eyebrows arching up to join his hair as he reads the part that verifies Madara's words. “Okay, fine, I do believe you,” he says churlishly.

Madara snatches the scroll back from him and hurriedly rolls it back up, stuffing it back into his shirt.

“And exactly who are you to question me anyways?”

He'd thought, at first, that this boy had rescued him (there's been no one else on the island so far, and he hasn't seen any other buildings even from the lighthouse), but a quick infusing of his chakra to scan him had put that thought to rest. The boy must have had some small level of chakra-training—Suiton-natured of course, like everyone else in Mizu and probably why he was out here in the first place—but nothing remarkable, not enough for him to have been powerful enough to rescue Madara from the clutches of the sea itself. And he was certainly not anything to challenge or threaten Madara (not now that he's surrounded by dry land).

“I work here.” The boy blinks at him, his dark eyes annoyed, as if Madara's question had been stupid.

It's now Madara's turn to be suspicious. “Really?” Madara asks. “On this remote island? Doing what?”

The boy shrugs. “Cooking. I'm the official cook for the keeper of the lighthouse. Or,” he continues wryly, looking over Madara dubiously, “do you have some unknown skill that will allow you to forage food and locate fresh water all by yourself, when you're clearly fire-natured?”

He...he might have a point there.

“I'm not inept,” Madara mutters, a bit stung by it.

“You don't have to be inept to not be used to these kinds of situations. Most keepers here won't have the skills necessary to survive by themselves, and that's where I come in. I prepare their food for them and get them fresh water. This is just part of my duties.”

“Not to mention,” he continues, “that you're clearly not used to island-living. It's quite different than on the mainland. Also, judging from your accent and your demeanor, you're not even a Mizu native are you? Hi no Kuni, if I'm not very much mistaken. It makes sense that you're a bit out of your element here, shinobi-san.”

What the...? Where does this, this _boy_ get off saying stuff like that? He was, what? All of 15? 16? As if he had any life skills worth mentioning, especially since he was a civilian! “Aren't you a little young to be out by yourself? Shouldn't you be learning a trade of some sort or working your parent's farm?”

The slender shoulders shrug.

“Haha-ue is dead. And Chichi-ue is...not here either. My Anija disappeared for a long time now, and no one has seen him.”

Those dark eyes look away from him, downcast. “My presence causes the rest of my family trouble, and so I decided not to stay and spare them the pain.”

Oh.

Suddenly Madara feels two centimeters high.

“Ah,” he says awkwardly. “I didn't mean to bring up such unfortunate matters...”

And...the boy's words made sense. If he lost his parents and his extended family didn't want him around (Madara can't imagine something like that—the Uchiha would never be so callous to their own flesh and blood as throw them away), then it's not inconceivable that he picked up useful skills just to survive. He is likely around the same age as Izuna, a few years younger than Madara himself, but experiences like those can accelerate a person's growth.

“Well, then I suppose we'll be working together,” he forces himself to continue. “My name is Madara—”

A pale pink lips quirk up into an almost smirk. “Yes, so it said on the scroll.”

Madara grits his teeth. Patience, he wills himself. Teenagers like the boy can be bratty—just look at Izuna!

“I would like to know yours, since we'll be in close proximity to each other.”

Those dark eyes regard him—mahogany, his mind supplies, not a true black, but rather a deep, deep red. They are rather fetching against the boy's dark red and pale blue patterned yukata. “Izumi.”

Fountain, huh? Considering the faint Suiton nature he can sense from him, he's not too surprised.

“Well, then Izumi...” he inclines his head slightly, just the slightest tilt as he is of higher status than a mere servant, “let us work well and peaceably together.”

A full year with this boy to help him.

Surely it can't be that bad, can it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lighthouse I was inspired by is the Sumiyoshi Lighthouse, which is apparently Japan's oldest lighthouse.


	7. Part II: The Aggravating Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince puts her to work and takes no notice of her besides to scold her...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Tobirama and Madara get along _swimmingly._
> 
> Also, I'm not very good at writing cracky humor. So bear with me.

**The Aggravating Stranger**  
  
When he had hauled the old fisherman and Uchiha Madara out of the strong storm, he had a fairly simple plan: make sure there were no serious injuries, drop the fisherman back on the mainland and then the Uchiha, and never ever interact with Uchiha ever again (he'll encourage oceans currents to deliver good catches to the fisherman). Of course there _was_ serious injuries—the Uchiha heir, with the large amount of salt water he'd inhaled (because, unlike the elderly civilian fisherman, _he_ apparently panics when he's surrounded by water)—but a little application of the iryo-ninjutsu his Anija had taught him, and that was that.

Tobirama had dropped him off on his island with some provisions to tide him over until he returned from flying the fisherman back to the mainland. And he had returned expecting to do the same with the Uchiha—whether the Uchiha was in Mizu for the fish trade or a mission, he would undoubtedly be glad to be off Tobirama's tiny little island.

Easy, simple and beneficial to everyone, just how he likes it since he's sets up on this remote island in Mizu no Kuni.

_“...even the tree leaves and grasses are blown by the wind...”_

He turns over in his futon, trying to ignore the loud caterwauling above him. (He's not going to dignify that sound with any other description.)

Of course, it turned out not to be as simple as he'd hoped. Turns out the Uchiha's mission _is_ Tobirama's little island, specifically the lighthouse grounds where Tobirama had claimed for his own. The Daimyo of Mizu had hired him to keep the flames lit.

Objectively, Tobirama can understand why. The Uchiha are known as a clan of experts in fire jutsu. Madara is one of the strongest of the Uchiha clan. He would be a likely pick for the famously paranoid Daimyo. And judging by rumors, the Daimyo probably offered him some ludicrous payment that the Uchiha couldn't turn down. He really can't see why else Madara would bother with this kind of mission, as simple and tedious and as long as it likely will be for him. Not to mention that it does explain how Madara had gotten caught in the storm...the weather around his island is spectacularly unpredictable and quick to change.

(That made it all the more heartwarming that the fishermen he'd saved from watery deaths had braved the treacherous weather to leave him small gifts on his island for him. He hadn't rescued them all with that intention, but it is nice to be appreciated.)

_“...To come, to come you tell me, but I cannot go there easily ”_

He grits his teeth and folds his pillow against his ears.

The elderly fisherman is one matter—and he did make a promise that no one would drown on his watch when he first arrived—but, by all the kami, he really wishes he had left the Uchiha to his fate!

_“...I can reach Mizu on the mainland by rowing a boat. But why and why cannot I reach your tender heart...”_

He's already reconciled himself to the fact that Uchiha Madara is here to stay, and he can't just get rid of him, but he will _not_ abide that horrible noise any longer!

“Uchiha!” he yells, his patience finally frayed. “You sound like a cat being strangled to death! Don't butcher songs if you can't sing!”

He hears a thump and a squawk above him and then...blessed silence.

Finally.

He sighs and sinks back down into his bed, happy that that's done and over with.

Now if he can just catch enough sleep so he can wake up before the Uchiha and have enough time to maintain the dye in his hair, replace his contacts and renew the seals that hide and alter his chakra signature...

_Snore._

His eyes snap open. The kami are jesting with him. Surely, they are jesting.

_Snore._

“Oh, for...! How is he even a shinobi no mono if he makes such loud ambient noises at night?!” He hisses to himself.

In a huff, he pushes himself out of his futon, rolls it up and stalks outside and to the lighthouse body proper.

He doesn't usually like sleeping in the lighthouse itself given that the stone flooring can be quiet cold...but if it will get him peace and quiet, he'll suffer it.

He really should have let the Uchiha drown.

-~&~-

Madara wakes to an irate dark-haired young man glaring at him as if Madara had personally assassinated one of his loved ones.

He blinks, confused, and mentally recounts anything he could have done that would have put Izuna's expression on Izumi's face. He hadn't thrown him into any ponds, he hadn't set his formal kimono on fire, he hadn't even salted his tea as payback for switching the sake out and replacing it with vinegar—that little weasel...salting his tea isn't _nearly_ enough.

The only thing he'd done is...

Ah yes. The singing last night. After he'd found an old stash of sake in the cabinet and _indulged_.

“I, um, apologize for my song last night. I might have gotten a bit drunk...”

The boy's right eye twitches, and if he weren't a civilian, Madara would probably be worried for his life.

“Ground rules,” Izumi says, almost spitting the words. “No singing after sunset. Sleep on your stomach so you don't snore like a bear. And no drinking.”

Madara feels his hackles rise immediately. Who is he to be telling Madara what to do? Madara's the...the...he's the _senior ranking_ of the two on this island! The boy is only a servant, here to serve _him_!

“You can't tell me what to do! You're younger than me, and just a cook and—”

Those burgundy eyes narrow even further at him. “The cook yes. Who cooks for you. Who might not be _able_ to cook for you if he can't sleep. Funny how that works.”

The boy stalks up to Madara, his finger waving in Madara's face like a sword—the errant thought crosses his mind that Izumi would have made a great shinobi no mono if he had bigger chakra and some training. “I have to climb a small cliff to get to the potable water! I have to grind the rice kernels to make rice flour! I have to wade out into the sea to collect seaweed, catch fish and dive for shellfish! I have to _scale the big cliffs to collect bird eggs!_ So unless you want to starve, you'll _keep your noise down_ when _normal_ people are trying to sleep!”

And before Madara can even say a single thing in return—or apologize, not that he'd apologize, with how rude Izumi's being—the boy spins around and stomps off, presumably to do those chores he had just rattled off.

Well.

“Welcome to the island,” Madara mutters to himself.

He can already tell he won't get along with Izumi at all.

-~&~-

Tobirama feels his anger ebb as he runs over the familiar route and scales down the cliff to reach the seagull eggs.

Perhaps he had been a bit harsh. Perhaps he could have broached it more diplomatically. Perhaps he could have been more understanding. But after a night of resting in the lighthouse proper, the stone of the floor practically radiating cold into his bones, he isn't inclined to kindness or understanding.

“Besides,” he mumbles to himself as he scans the nests before him, plucking out the unfertilized ones to rest in his little woven-bamboo egg-basket and leaving the fertilized ones, “there is a proper time and place for loud noise, and in the middle of the night isn't one of them.”

And really, indulging in sake that he'd found? What if it was poisoned? What if it had already turned into vinegar? Who even _does_ that? Uchiha Madara had been acting like some new wet-behind-the-ears shinobi no mono who had just faced his first death experience...

His hand freezes on the 12th and last egg.

Oh.

Of course.

The Uchiha probably didn't have that much experience with water. That storm was most likely his first drowning experience.

_He was rattled and wanted to soothe himself._

It explains all the sea-water in his lungs, his panicked thrashing when Tobirama had plucked him out with his dragon claws and...

It rather puts Madara's shocking lack of manners in a different light, and Tobirama feels shame crawl up his belly. He can _understand_ wanting to forget, wanting to drown out the memories because that's exactly what he did when he first ran to Mizu.

A kindly old fisherman's wife had found him drunk off his feet from the sake he'd filched and instead of trying to beat him for it, had offered him food and a warm hearth. It made all the difference to his muddled, drunk and desperately miserable form. The next morning, he'd sworn to help all the fishermen of this area with his Suiton and dragon cloak and make sure not another one soul drowns...

That Uchiha Madara could be so equally human...

He sighs and places the last egg into his basket, then deftly ricochets up the cliff just as easily as he clambered down.

He's being ridiculous. _Of course_ the Uchiha is just as human as he. It's just that...he's always faced him on the battlefield before, when he's Senju Tobirama. And Uchiha Madara always has his defenses up against Senju Tobirama. Here...as Izumi...he needs to remember that Madara is more than just the clan heir of their enemies (or an inept drowning victim).

He's a man, a stranger really, and Tobirama should treat him as kindly as he would any stranger recovering from a harrowing near-death experience. As kindly as _he_ was treated by that fisherman's wife.

-~&~-

His goodwill evaporates as soon as he's returned with the eggs, the fresh water, the abalone, the fish and the seaweed.

He's not the fisherman's wife, and even that kind old woman would be outraged.

“You went through _my things_?”

Scratch his earlier determination, Madara deserves a kunai through the stomach.

The man has the gall to look wholly unconcerned and shrugs. “I thought I might help a little bit after I kept you up last night, so I went looking for a hook to fish with...I couldn't find a hook, but I did find a bit of wire next to an ornate looking box with some kind of pendant in it—I think one side looked like a broken sundial to me? Well, I am quite handy with fire, so I melted the metal enough to reshape it into a fish hook. It worked out well!...though I think it's somewhat rusty now. I only caught just the one fish and well...”

Tobirama looks to where he's pointing at a bucket with a rather puny and small hairtail in it.

He counts to ten, trying not to gut Madara where he stands.

“Let me get this straight. You went through my things—without my permission—borrowed one of my possessions, reshaped it and got it completely rusty...just for a fish that's more skin and bone than flesh?”

His hands clench tightly on the basket of eggs by his side. He's going to kill Madara. He really is. (The wire his mother had set on fire for his young eyes...the first thing she had given to him—his curiosity.)

(And thank all the kami he had the foresight to stash his cloak of dragon scales, his Tennyo's feathered cloak, his red string of fate and his fire-rat's cloak in a small cave instead of at the attendant's house! That would have been disastrous otherwise.)

“You're mad again. I can understand being upset about me going through your things—and in all fairness, I didn't know you'd claimed that room! I thought it was just general storage—but it's just a small inconsequential bit of wire. Surely, it's a small trangression?”

“That small inconsequential bit of wire,” Tobirama bites off, “was my mother's. My dead mother's. It is one of the only things left that I have to remember her by.”

He can see that he finally got through to the Uchiha's thick head (maybe he can use that head as a whetstone...at least then the Uchiha would prove himself useful in _something_ ) from the stunned and mortified expression that crosses his face.

“I—oh.”

He grits his teeth. “Yes, _oh_. Indeed.”

“I-I don't suppose you could...forgive me if I...gave it back to you?”

“You changed its shape, Madara. You rusted it!”

“I'll clean it! I'll restore it! I promise.”

“And how exactly would you do that? You need acid to clean off the rust! Where are you going to get acid on this tiny small island?!”

Madara squawks, his face red with shame. “I'll find a lemon tree! With enough scrubbing...that will remove the rust! And I'll...I'll...I'll polish it and apply oil to it so that it won't rust again!”

He narrows his eyes at the man. A lemon tree, huh? There's only one such tree here—a transplant, from one of his flights off the island, and he had planted it all the way at the very bottom of a gorge.

“I'll hold you to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Madara is singing is Sado Okesa, except I replaced Izumozaki with Mizu for continuity's sake.
> 
> And yes, Madara will formally meet the dragon next chapter.


	8. Part II: The New Acquaintance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince throws a ball, and the princess begs to go, slipping away to attend in her brilliant gown of silver...

**The New Acquaintance**  
  
The infuriating Uchiha sets off right after dinner—a quick affair of salt-grilled fish over a bed of steamed rice from the mainland and a side of persimmon vinegar treated seaweed. Tobirama watches him go with eyes narrowed in doubt, hardly believing he will actually attempt it. It's not like it's dangerous, not for a shinobi of Madara's caliber, though if he were a civilian, Tobirama would be worried—that gorge requires cliff-walking to get to! But he hasn't even asked where to find a lemon tree, or if there is even one on the island! How can he be serious about making it up to “Izumi”? He wouldn't just wander about aimlessly...would he?

It's the part of Tobirama that is endlessly curious—the part from his mother, and his heart clenches painfully at her memory—that forces his tired legs to move.

He should keep an eye on the Uchiha. If he wanders about, after all, he might find Tobirama's cave where he stashed his cloaks and the Red String of Fate. Tobirama can't have that, now can he? He has his hand on his evening haori and is pulling it on before he knows it when it suddenly occurs to him—

“Izumi” would not have the skills needed to traverse that gorge. “Izumi” is a civilian. Tobirama most definitely would have no difficulty, but it is not _Tobirama_ here with Madara now, is it?

And that means he can't show himself. With anyone else, it wouldn't be a problem, but with Madara...

Uchiha Madara is a sensor just like he. And while Tobirama's seals mute and alter his chakra signature, it can't cover it completely. If the Uchiha is infusing chakra, he would most definitely sense “Izumi” following him, and that is one conversation Tobirama definitely does not want to have.

He bites his lip at the realization. Izumi must be beyond suspicion. Izumi must have absolutely no connection with the missing Senju Tobirama or with Hi no Kuni at all. He will _not_ be discovered and dragged back to face his clan.

(How they must despise him for what he's done. How they must hate him for leaving them in that way, for not doing his duty. But it is the past now, and he has made his choice. He will pay for it when it is time, but for now, he will not be taken back.)

So he can't show his face as Izumi or chance getting caught as Izumi. How, then, to tail Madara, to make sure he doesn't poke his nose where it does not belong and ruin everything? Unless...

A quirk of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth—the first true smile he's had since he found out about Madara's misadventures earlier—and he places the haori back on its hook. Perhaps it's a bit mean of him, but...

Madara has been a thorn in his side. It's past time to repay the favor and spook the man. Just a little.

(Yes, it's petty, but Madara's just ruined one of his only three momentos he has of his mother. He's allowed to be petty.)

-~&~-

Two hours of aimless wandering, two hours of going from one end of the island to the other and wandering the perimeter to boot—thank the kami he's a shinobi no mono, a civilian could never have pulled this off!—and there's no hint of a lemon tree at all.

He stops in the middle of a grassy field, the sea stretching out about 100 meters in front of him, the forest of bamboo to his back.

There must be one.

After all, Izumi didn't say anything when Madara broached his idea. He all but _encouraged_ him. And Izumi wouldn't lead him astray...right?

He thinks back to the dull anger in those maroon eyes, remembers the grinding teeth and revises his opinion.

Right, that pretty petty little jackass would _absolutely_ lead him astray and let him go haring off on a wild goose chase, because he's a prickly pear of a not-quite-a-man, not-quite-a-boy who delights in seeing Madara brought low because...reasons.

Sure, perhaps the reasons are actually quite understandable and grounded, but...

He huffs and considers calling it quits and returning to the lighthouse. He made an attempt. Surely that's good enough? It's not like he _meant_ to damage the thing or realized how much sentimental value was attached to it—it's a bloody piece of wire! _Why_ does it have so much sentimental value attached?!

He imagines himself returning, imagines facing the distinctly unimpressed look on that too-pretty face, the “I knew it” he can already hear from that downturned sneering mouth, the sniff of the nose as it's turned up at him, as if he were some roach that had flown in and is now smeared all along the bottom of Izumi's sandals, to be cleaned off like the rest of the unwanted disgusting things and... _all the curses of the kami upon him_ , but there is utterly no way he's going back to that.

He has pride. He's an Uchiha. He gave his word. He will _find that damn lemon tree!_

Even if it doesn't actually exist.

Okay, he'll find that lemon tree or find something else that might have acidic properties to it. If only he knew better what was on the island...

His stomach growls, and he looks down morosely at it.

The food Izumi had made for him was good—he sees how the boy got hired as a cook at such a young age—but he was so uncomfortable after the earlier events of the day that he barely tasted it. A few bites of the grilled fish, a spoonful of rice, one measly mouthful of the seaweed, and he had swiftly retreated underneath Izumi's unending glare. (Izumi really could have benefited from being born in a ninja clan instead of as a civilian...he certainly has the intimidation for it!). He beat such a hasty retreat, he hadn't even asked Izumi if he knew where a lemon tree was!

He thinks back to the warm, perfectly steamed rice, so much more sticky and flavorful than what he's used to—is this due to the cultivar of the rice or due to Izumi sealing the lid of the pot to the body with clay?—and remembers the salty-sweet tang of the fragrant fresh fish, and the sharpness of the vinegar—not the plain rice variety he's used to—and...

Damn. Now he's even _more_ hungry. If only he could figure out where the lemon tree is, perhaps sense...

He blinks.

Perhaps that's the solution. He's never used his sensing in that way before, having always used it offensively to find the _people_ he's looking for, but it's worth a try. If he can sense people, then why not plants? At any rate, it certainly won't keep him from his food even longer.

A brief bit of concentration, a brief moment where warm chakra infuses his body with the glows of dying embers in a fireplace and...

He's so startled, he nearly falls backwards.

A monstrously _huge_ chakra. One of the like he's never felt before. Wild, and terrible and grand like the sea and _right fucking behind him!_

Slowly, shaking now, he turns around, cringing at the thought of seeing just what the owner of that chakra is...and at the first sight, he promptly does fall backwards this time, his jack slackening at the being towering over him.

Not because of fear, though, no. It's because it's...

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his voice awed by the sight before him.

The dragon—and he suddenly remembers the rambling of the old fisherman—raises an elegant feathery eyebrow at his exclamation.

“Really?” the majestic being booms, and Madara feels his knees go weak at it (good thing he's already on his ass in the dirt).

“Yes,” he says dumbly, before his sense (which sounds suspiciously like Izuna) twacks him metaphorically. What is he _doing_? This is a divine dragon! He should be showing his reverence for such a great being, not staring at it like some mouse looking to get eaten!

Right, he reminds himself. Don't get eaten. Getting eaten is bad.

He bows his head low to it. “Forgive me, great dragon. I am merely mortal and forgot myself in your divine presence. I am honored that you would deign to reveal yourself to one so lowly as I...”

The dragon snorts in amusement, and Madara stumbles over his words at the unexpected sound. He looks up hesitantly to see rows of brilliant white teeth, as sharp and long as wakizashi as the dragon grins in amusement and...

Although if he's devoured, then at least it wouldn't be so bad to be devoured by such a magnificent creature? A literal kami itself. Surely better than drowning or any other death he's likely to meet on this wretched island...

On the heels of that thought comes a memory.

A long sinuous ribbon of iridescent blue-green, streaked through with strands of gold, with red markings along the face. A torrent of rain _pitter-pattering_ against the churning waves dragging Madara down, down, down as water rushes into his mouth and lungs, and he grasps blindly, smooth scales underneath his hands as a large claw curves around him and...

He gapes. He gasps.

“It's you!”

The blood-red eyes blink at him slowly.

“You saved me!” He points insistently. “You saved me from the...”

He flushes, realizing that his finger is pressing into the dragon's nose. “Ah...my apologies, oh great dragon.”

Yeah, he's done it now. Going to get devoured for sure this time. Figures that this island will find some way to kill him, if not by drowning, then by a divine being.

The dragon lifts itself into the air, its long sinuous body rising gracefully from where it was coiled, and Madara watches it, transfixed by the iridscent gleam of the scales—their color bright even in only the light of the moon. He's startled to realize that what the fisherman had said was true: this dragon had a cloud of feathers around it, wrapping about it almost like cirrus cloud ribbons, the near transclucent white lighting up the sea blue-green in an ever-shifting, ever rippling halo.

A dragon surrounded by a cloak of feathers, lit in the light of the full moon, its every line, every curve, every whisker elegant, beautiful, formidable.

(It's magnificent. So very beautiful, that his heart aches at the sight of it. And even if he's going to get eaten, at least he got a chance to see his savior, at least he got a chance to see a being so awe-inspiring and impressive. If he goes now...well, he wouldn't have _no_ regrets, but his regrets would certainly be fewer than if he drowned or died some other way.)

The dragon reaches its full height, and Madara scrambles to prostrate himself before the creature.

If he's to die to this kami, then let him display his full devotion to it beforehand first.

When, after a moment, he's distinctly _not_ rent apart by rows upon rows of sharp teeth, he chances another look.

And it looks...puzzled.

“What are you doing?”

He blinks. “I'm showing the proper respect?” The stories always detailed the proper procedures if one comes face to face with a dragon (abject submission is key), but perhaps the stories are wrong here? Is this not what a person is supposed to do in this situation?

(Although Madara privately thinks that, even if the creature weren't divine, prostration makes the most sense. It has at least 30 teeth as long and sharp as wakizashi. Why _wouldn't_ someone throw themselves down when confronted with such a sight? Only the foolish brave would do any different, and he is shinobi no mono, known more for practicality than useless grandiose displays of honor or bravery.)

“Get up. You look ridiculous down there groveling in the dirt like a worm.”

He doesn't take offense at this—30 teeth like wakizashi, enough said—and instead does as he is bid.

“And pray tell, why do you believe me to have saved you?”

He sneaks another peak up at it. It looks genuinely amused, those jewel-like eyes focusing on him so intently that he feels a shiver of something—not dread—race up his spine. Red eyes, the exact shade and color of the sharingan itself!

“I remember,” he admits. “I remember you swooping down and plucking me from the ocean, saving me from those treacherous black waters that sought to drown me. When the boat that I was on broke apart—”

He starts then. He had forgotten. How could he have forgotten?

“The old man,” he blurts out, his earlier awe forgotten. “Is he alright? He ferried me over, but we got trapped by the storm and...” And he has a wfie and a son and a daughter, all waiting for him, and if Madara caused the man's death, he will need to make offerings.

He didn't like the man, he was too strange for him, but he was a kindly decent man for all of that. A bit prone to long rambles, but not a bad sort. And while Madara doesn't mind killing people—he's a shinobi no mono after all—it's _different_ when it's inadvertent, when the person who dies is just a regular civilian that has nothing to do with his mission at all, when Madara's the cause.

(Hashirama had once called him soft-hearted, and he'd promptly dunked the other boy into the river.)

“The old fisherman is safe,” the dragon says softly. “I carried him back to his family and filled his nets with fish. He should be well taken care of while he recuperates from his ordeal.”

A chuckle.

“In truth, you were the more difficult. _He_ had the sense not to breathe in too much seawater. _You_ did not.”

Madara bristles.

“He's a fisherman! He has experience!”

The dragon snorts.

“Not with drowning, I assure you with that much.”

Did he say the creature is magnificent? He meant petty and ridiculous. A match to Izumi in every way.

Izumi. The wire. The rust.

He straightens, remembering his self-assigned task. “O great dragon of the sea—”

The dragon shifts. “I told you not to do that.”

“O great dragon of the sea,” he repeats and smirks at the annoyed look on its face. Hah, served it right for scaring him like that earlier when it had no intention of actually eating him. (It's possible that Izuna is right, and he has something of a death wish.) “I have set myself a task to find a lemon tree. Would you happen to know where one is?”

The dragon considers him. “And why do you search for a lemon tree? Surely you know that such plants are not native to this area?”

Madara scrambles to his feet so he can properly bow to it. “Indeed, I do, great dragon. But I have committed an injury to” a really annoying and ridiculously pretty boy “an acquaintance of mine that I wish to make recompense for. I borrowed a tool from him that I did not realize had material value—”

“Borrowed. Without permission, I'm assuming?”

He colors. It's true that Izumi does have a _reason_ to be mad at him... “I have erred in my judgment,” he admits. “I should not have taken that which was not mine, and, to make matters worse, I rusted it with my use. I seek the lemon to clean the rust off.”

The dragon stares at him, its head tilted curiously. “And what if I tell you that there is no lemon tree here?”

Yeah, that's what he was afraid of. “Then I would ask you to direct me to a boat so I can ferry myself to the mainland and find a lemon or some other acid with which to remove the rust.”

The pair of large, bright red eyes blink at him in shock. “I saved you from drowning. You clearly don't know anything about how to handle yourself around large bodies of water. And you want to go _back_ in?”

Well, no, not put that way. He really would like nothing less. But Madara gave his word. And even if Izumi is stupidly irritable...perhaps he does owe the boy for putting up with him. It's his job, true, but...

 _Soft-hearted_ , an absent Hashirama whispers into his mind. _Shut up_ , he whispers back.

“There's a lemon tree at the bottom of a gorge not a thousand meters away from here, on the north side. Follow the big dipper, and it will take you there.”

It's said so simply. And yet strangely, Madara gets the feeling that its opinion of him had just changed. Somehow. Perhaps it's in the way the teeth are now hidden, in the almost warm gleam in its eyes, but...something has changed.

He bows to it once more, and when he looks up again, he's forced to clamp down on the disappointment rising in him. It's gone, with not even a breeze to indicate its passing.


	9. Part II: The Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince dances with the princess, only to find her gone. And when he eats some of his favorite soup and finds a golden ring in it, he searches for the owner of that ring...to no avail.

**The Other Side**  
  
Tobirama has a lot of ideas of who (and what) Uchiha Madara is.

An enemy, for one, what with the Senju-Uchiha war having dragged on for so many generations that no one could even remember what started it...if only they'd listened to him when he was a mere boy of seven—honestly he still doesn't understand why it's so hard to make and keep a damn peace treaty. Functioning adults should be able to compromise, come to an agreement and keep their word. The concept really shouldn't be that strange or difficult to manage!

A rival for his older brother's attention and respect—and wasn't that just plain ridiculous? Uchiha Madara had his own little brother and a clan that adored him. Why he had to go stealing Hashirama's attention from his family, why he had to put that distant, faraway look into Tobirama's brother's eyes...that was just plain unfair. And they are enemies besides. It is ludicrous that Hashirama should put Madara's regard so highly (perhaps above Tobirama's own).

And more recently, an irritant. Someone who is utterly hopeless around water and all things natural (like bodies of water) that he, a trained shinobi no mono, was closer to death than an aged fisherman when Tobirama fished them out of the (admittedly ferocious) storm. And yet someone who insists on sticking to the island anyway; insists on staying and completing his mission and messing up Tobirama's nice structured life and ruining Tobirama mother's wire.

But now he hurries back to his room at the attendant's house next to the lighthouse, pretending to be asleep as soft footsteps enter his room and stop next to his dresser—he's tense, having someone uninvited in his room so close—and then leaves. He listens to those feet padding softly upstairs to the main attendant's rooms, listens to the sounds of the older man stripping off his outerwear and unfolding his futon, listens as the sounds from upstairs subsides and all that's left is the rustling of the cicadas.

Quick as a flash, he turns over, throws off his covers, signs a tiny raiton for light—not enough to wake the sleeping Madara upstairs, not enough to prickle at the man's senses, just enough to see—and stares dumbly at the small box waiting for him.

It's hand-carved, made out of wood that the man must have chopped himself, from one of the few trees dotting the island (that's why it took so long for him to return...he must have stumbled upon it and treated it with his fire in the night). The whorls and swirls are dried, the surface a pristine shine—presumably the result of a jutsu that Tobirama is unfamiliar with—and the man has even encased the inside with a bed of clean cotton. A moment later, Tobirama recognizes the fabric as being from Madara's own shirt. And nestled within it is...

He runs a finger across the thin wire, fully cleaned of its rust, just the way he remembered it when his mother had first lit it for him so long ago.

So. Uchiha Madara had really done it. Found the way to the lemon tree that he had pointed out, cleaned the small bit of metal and even taken the trouble to housing it in a handmade protective box.

Oh.

He's not sure that any of his previous opinions of the man has changed. Certainly the man is still an enemy of the Senju clan and an unfair claimant of Anija's attention and prone to getting himself in the strangest situations in an environment he is clearly not suited for, but...

But.

Perhaps...perhaps he can add another descriptor.

Honorable. Just, despite being an Uchiha. Kind-hearted.

With a snort, he sets the box back down and closes the lid (carefully, so very careful not to damage the undoubtedly hours of hard work his upstairs neighbor put in) and pads back to his futon.

Kind-hearted, how maudlin. He's not Anija. He won't be so soft in the face of Uchiha Madara's sentiments.

But despite his private ridicule, he gets up early the next morning and works to fix something he remembers his Anija babbling about a few years ago.

_“Really? Chawanmushi for breakfast? I mean, I know he's Uchiha, but that's not really an acceptable breakfast dish at all, is it? It's not proper like rice and miso and fish.”_

_Hashirama shrugged._

_“What can I say? Different clans have different traditions. It may well be a normal breakfast item for them. Although...for a clan of katon wielders, their tastes don't really match their expertise. It explains why half the time we were planning our village, he kept trying to set up trade routes to Mizu...”_

_Tobirama shuddered. “We have perfectly acceptable fish in our streams for the stock! The Naka...!”_

_Hashirama laughed and pulled Tobirama into a bone-crushing hug—and he did not squawk at it no matter what Anija would later say. He was perhaps mortally offended by the large hand tousling his hair. “Awwww, my cute Otouto! Are you offended on behalf of Hi no Kuni? Is this Fire Country solidarity I see?”_

_“No! Stop it, Anija. Anija!”_

His Anija is not here, and he doesn't even truly know if all of his loved ones are safe (don't think of father, don't think of that man), and there's nothing he can do about that.

Chawanmushi, however, that's _definitely_ something he can do about. The ingredients on hand are not the typical ones, but he'll make do. It should still be halfway decent.

His Anija would be so happy and proud, but he's wrong. Tobirama is only doing this because Madara went out of his way to correct his earlier mistake. That's it. That's all. Madara only needed to clean the wire and return it. He didn't need to find a tree, chop some wood, somehow cure the wood with his fire and then carve it into a box. He didn't need to rip apart part of his own shirt to create a little bed for it. And since he put in so much effort for his apology, Tobirama is only returning the favor.

It's not sentiment. It's nothing anything else except the repaying of a debt.

(Stop it, Anija.)

And if a small part of him rather preens at the obvious awe on Madara's face when he beheld his form in the dragon cloak, at the politeness of the other man and the dazzled look in his eyes, well...that's just. A small part. Inconsequential really.

-~&~-

Madara's not really sure what he expected when he woke up the next morning. More yelling perhaps? More scathing commentary and a look down that perfect, perfect nose at how poor Madara's effort was to properly clean the little bit of wire—and he's still strung up about that, really, all this trouble for a little bit _wire_? A sneer, perhaps on those plush lips as he hurries to run off to do his chores, no doubt leaving Madara to bumble something up once more?

But instead, he walks down to the living area and smells...

He suddenly stops at the foot of the stairs, his mouth watering inadvertently, savoring the smell as his eyelids flutter shut and—

“You can come sit at the table instead of standing about like a fool, you know.”

Right. He forgot about the other occupant for a moment (even his sharp mouth).

“Chawanmushi?” he asks, trying to contain the saliva in his mouth.

A shrug greets him.

“It seemed like something I should make, since I have the eggs right there, and we had plenty of high-quality dashi on hand. I don't know how it will turn out with seagull eggs and dried abalone and dried seaweed stock, instead of chicken eggs and bonito stock, but I did add in some additional toppings that should hopefully make up for the deficient flavor, if it turns out to be inferior than what you're used to.”

Madara's never hurried to sit down at the table so quickly in his life.

That slender hand slides a bowl in front of him, and he takes a deep, deep whiff and...oh. Yeah, this should be good.

He's not sure about the seagull eggs, but dried abalone and dried seaweed stock? _Yes!_ And he can just make out the shavings of seaweed, abalone and fish meat on top, with the fish cake and shiitake mushroom buried inside...and is that carrot, ginkgo, a bit of enoki, shrimp and soybean?

Carefully, delicately (the last time he was so eager to eat something, he'd tipped the entire thing over and cried over the spilled remains of his favorite soup), he lifts the bamboo scoop up to his mouth, blows across the soft, creamy, custardy mixture softly and then tilts it into his mouth, swishing it around to get at all the flavors and...

Izumi can say all the scathing things he wants, but if he keeps making stuff like this for Madara? He's welcome to tear Madara down to size _any_ time of day.

He's distantly aware that he's moaning, making sounds that are positively indecent at breakfast time, but he can't quite bring himself to care. That flavor? The rich umami of the stock? The slight saltiness of soy sauce (and how exactly did Izumi obtain soy sauce in this island)? The silkiness of the egg, the brightness of the ginkgo and carrot and soy bean? The chewiness of the mushrooms and the flakiness of the fish itself? All that combined with the steamed rice on the side...

He's died. He's died and gone on to the afterlife, which is a paradise that he never heard tell before and whose gatekeeper is a cantankerous boy cook who scowls with his mouth but makes the most succulent of treats. He could ask the boy to marry him...maybe kidnap him back to the clan. He's sure Izuna would approve. Izuna loves chawanmushi just as much as he does.

Instead of a marriage proposal (or a kidnapping), he says instead, “Chawanmushi is one of my favorite foods.”

A snort, and he opens his eyes again (when did he close them?).

“I guessed, what with that expression you just made. One would think you never had a good meal in your life before if that's how you react to my little experiment.”

Experiment?

“You mean,” he asks curiously, “you never made something like this before?”

Izumi starts digging into his own bowl in front of him, carefully folding his sleeve (a different different and trousers than the day before, the red and black suit him much better). “I believe chicken eggs is usually the norm, rather than seagull eggs, and like I said before, abalone broth is not so common. Bonito is generally used instead. But the fundamentals seemed similar, so I decided to try it out today...I'm glad it worked out. I wasn't sure it would.”

Huh. How curious. And the way Izumi said that, as if he didn't typically make chawanmushi at all. Which begs the question, “what made you decide to make Chawanmushi? My understanding is that Mizu natives tended to eat grilled fish for their first meal.”

Izumi gulps down his spoonful of egg custard. “Actually, I used to be in the employ of one of the noble clans of Mizu...they gossiped a lot, and one of the things they talked about was your clan. I didn't pay much attention, but I do remember being surprised that you would eat Chawanmushi at all, since you're katon-based, no? I guess I found it so odd that it just stuck with me.”

It...makes sense. Random little strange things do stick with people. Madara has his own accounts of just that happening. But his clan's preference for Chawanmushi is something he never thought would make the gossip rounds in Mizu.

“Hmm,” he says, wonderingly. He takes another spoonful of the divine silkiness. “And what clan was this?”

Perhaps he should eliminate them, if they are spreading rumors about he and his clan? Once this entire mission is over, of course...his cat summons would not appreciate being told to cross an ocean to deliver a message.

Suspicious dark red eyes immediately pin him to his seat. “I'm not going to be the reason my former employers are killed, you know. I'm not stupid. I know what you shinobi no mono do.”

Damnit. But then again... “You seem very at ease with the thought of it.”

Those thin shoulders shrug again. “I am no innocent. Life even as a 'civilian' as you shinobi no mono call us is not easy, what with the frequent bandit attacks, the inability to properly defend ourselves, the lack of medicines, the famines that strike every so often and the heavy taxes levied by the Daimyo. And when you ninja war among yourselves, then who is caught in it but we, the civilians?”

That is true, and Madara sobers to think of this young, mostly defenseless (his tongue notwithstanding) boy in the middle of one of the old Uchiha-Senju battles...or even one of the smaller skirmishes they've had against the Hatake and the Sarutobi.

He pushes the shrimp around in his custard, breaking the smoothness into small chunks. “Was that what you experienced? War and famine and disease and taxes?”

It hurts, somewhat, the thought that even this boy should have experienced that. It's different for a shinobi no mono like Madara, but a mere civilian...How could he have defended himself against any of it? He has some chakra ability, Madara can tell, but not enough to truly do anything with. And certainly none of the training that would allow him to make use of even that. And while he's nicely muscled (no brain, stay upstairs), it's not enough to fend off bandits with only rudimentary tools as his disposal. No shuriken or kunai, only whatever farming or, more likely (given that this is Mizu), fishing equipment on hand.

Life must have been very hard for Izumi. It explains why he jumped at the chance to get stationed out in the middle of nowhere, on an island, made to scale cliffs for seagull eggs, dive into treacherous waters for fish, seaweed and shellfish, and cook for bumbling oafs like Madara. The security of knowing there are no bandits about? A solid guaranteed wage of food and housing? It must have been like being blessed by the kami, no doubt.

And then, of course, he runs into Madara, who damages one of the only things left he has to remember his mother by...

Madara hurriedly gulps the spoonful down, ignoring the burn in his throat. What an utter cad he's been.

“I'm sorry,” he says suddenly.

Those dark red eyes (lovely eyes, like garnets, like the wine that they sometimes import from several continents over) blink at him. The pretty face scrunches up in question. “For what?”

“For taking your possession without asking you. For damaging it. I didn't think much of it then because I thought it was just a bit of wire, but...I was wrong. And so...”

He sets his spoon down, gets up, faces Izumi and bows. “Forgive me. I said it before, but I really mean it now. Forgive me for my actions. I shouldn't have gone into your room, and I shouldn't have taken liberties with your things.”

Silence. But when Madara looks up, Izumi is staring at him with an almost...considering...look in his eyes.

Those lips squirk up in a half-smile, half-smirk.

“I saw the box you made earlier today. It was...thoughtful. And I like it. So I suppose I would have to say that I forgive you, wouldn't I?”

But then the boy flicks a bit of abalone at Madara and says, “now do sit down and finish eating. You look absolutely ridiculous like that.”

What the...?

Is that the proper reaction to Madara's apology?

He scowls at the smirk playing on Izumi's lips. He takes back all the complimentary thoughts he just had about him. Clearly, Izumi is a little hellion who deserves whatever it was that he got!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never made chawanmushi with gull eggs, so just completely making stuff up here. Normal chawanmushi, however, is delicious and quite simple to make.
> 
> Also, in case anyone is confused: dashi is basically a kind of stock that can be made from fish, mushroom or kelp. I tend to use a mix of all three myself. Ginkgo is the nut from a ginkgo tree (popular in Chinese, Japanese and Korean cuisine). Chawanmushi is, itself, a savory egg custard. Very similar to Chinese steamed egg and kind of similar to Korean Gyeran-jjim (both chawanmushi and Chinese steamed egg tend to be more silky whereas Gyeran-jjim tends to be fluffier). All three of these things are really delicious.


	10. Part II: The Irritating Housemate

**The Irritating Housemate**  
  
Despite his annoyance at Izumi, Madara can't help but find the younger boy intriguing. A boy still for now, but with the way he is fast maturing, his body lengthening into a rather slender, long and compact beauty—no, Madara is certainly not jealous that Izumi will likely end up taller than him, he's not that petty (okay, maybe a little)—he will be fully formed in just a few scant months.

If only his personality would similarly form.

“How are you _still_ terrified of the water? It's been a full moon cycle since your drowning incident... _surely_ you've gotten over that by now? You didn't even suffer any major consequences!”

Madara splutters.

“Didn't suffer any major consequences?! I nearly _drowned_ you little dipshit!”

“You know, if you want to insult someone, you shouldn't use the descriptions that are best suited for yourself. It kind of defeats the point.”

“Why you...!”

Izumi is a master at pushing Madara's buttons, sending him into vein-throbbing fury in less than the time it takes the boy to dress a fish—and Izumi is impressively fast at the task, and Madara is never watching that again because...ick (he'll stick to eating the fish rather than doing any of that himself).

Madara will be minding his own business or in a relatively cordial discussion when suddenly the boy makes some observation that _always_ ends up being mocking.

“I'm not saying I'm _shocked_ , just...surprised is all. You don't seem the type.”

“It's not a type! Why wouldn't I like books? Are you saying you thought I was stupid this entire time?”

“No! I didn't mean it like that. And we've only known each other for two moons...that's hardly a long time to base anything off of.”

“Then what made you think I didn't enjoy reading?”

It's like it's in his blood to mock Madara. Like he's born with that capability or raised specifically for it.

And it is beyond vexing.

“I think it has less to do with you than someone you remind me of. He's the first son of a noble family, and he always enjoyed everything _except_ the knowledge to be found in a book or scroll. Why, once he gave me a new book he'd found and then wanted to drag me away from it only a few hours later! The very nerve!”

Just as it is beyond interesting, almost enlightening. Madara hungers to learn more.

“Is that how someone with humble beginnings like you learned to read? I do admit I was surprised when I first met you.”

“Yes, it is. I looked over his shoulder during his lessons, and my...employer...was kind. He indulged mother and I in our curiosity...”

“He sounds like a good man. Why did the two of you leave him?”

Fluffy black hair hides those garnet eyes from Madara even as knuckles, clutched firmly around the handle of the _Deba_ , whiten. “Mother died, and my...employer...he wasn't the same. He asked things of me that I cannot do, could not bring myself to do and it just became impossible for me to stay. I slipped away then.”

There is so much left unsaid in that, and a man with more courage would dare. But Madara doesn't have that courage, doesn't have the will to prod and poke at wounds that are obviously still bleeding. Despite the insults, the bits of snark and ribbing, Izumi has been good to him. He is an excellent cook, and he scales those cliffs every week in search of gull eggs, dives into the sea everyday for fresh fish and shellfish. Any one of these could potentially kill a civilian (even a shinobi would have difficulty, as evidenced by Madara the last time he tried the same thing). He will not repay the boy's good care with hurt.

But he's curious, so very curious about him. Maybe it's the fact that the boy is warming up to him, or simply just growing on him. Who is Izumi? Who is this not-so-humble peasant boy who can read, this scaler of dangerous cliffs and diver of oceans, this civilian with a hint of Suiton chakra who works and lives on this island in the middle of nowhere whose only other inhabitant seems to be a dragon?

“Were you offered any other positions? Or did you choose this one because there was nothing else?”

“After my mother died and my...employer...changed, I fled. I didn't have the leisure for a long search, but thankfully the Daimyo had just found need to replace the previous occupant of this position—I think he suffocated after diving too deep and rising too quickly—and I was happy to take this position.”

“And you like it here?”

Thin but muscled shoulders shrug. “What's not there to like? It's been almost 10 moons now, I think—”

And that comes as a surprise.

“You were only here seven moons before I started? So soon?”

“You've already noticed I'm young. Exactly how long _could_ I have been here?”

More than that short amount of time.

But it makes sense. The fact that Izumi is so very clearly still traumatized by the change his previous employer underwent, it must have been fairly recent. Izumi strikes him as a very resilient individual.

No, what strikes Madara as more surprising (and causes a warm heat deep in his chest) is, “you mean you don't even dislike me? Do my ears work correctly?”

The boy (still a boy, what with the way he's glaring at him) crosses his arms. It's cute, how almost petulant he is. (And Madara should be careful, lest he finds himself gaining _feelings_ for his erstwhile cook/companion for the remaining nine moons).

“No, I take that back. You are most annoying and try my patience greatly. I don't know how I've managed here with you around.”

But Madara thinks he sees Izumi's ears pink.

The boy really is quite fun to rile up.

-~&~-

Uchiha Madara is really something else. When he'd first made peace with the fact that the man was going to be staying on his island and not leaving, he'd expected someone quite like Hashirama, with Hashirama's exuberant overly enthusiasm for all things except books and Hashirama's unending optimism. His Anija and Madara used to be friends after all. Friends who were natural enemies but overcame that because of how _similar_ they both were. It's natural to think that that similarity extends beyond out-of-reach dreams of universal peace and to more mundane things as well, such as attitudes towards books, strangers, unwilling housemates and food.

But while that last is true (and here, Tobirama can't help but despair of his brother's preference for overly done fishy soups over freshly grilled fish—it's not that such things are bad, simply that such things are clearly inferior to salt grilled fish from the Nakano!), Madara apparently couldn't be more different in the other ways.

Not only does he truly enjoy reading, he has almost as big a library as Tobirama's amassed back in his old quarters.

“I'm sorry, Madara, but this is an island. It's hard to get books here.”

“Surely you must have _something!_ You enjoy reading!”

“I do, but such things tend to be very water permeable and we are _surrounded by water!_ It's been four moons now, and your contract only stipulates a year...surely you can wait for eight more moons.”

A pout.

“If I _must_.”

And that was the other thing about Madara. He's easy around Izumi (just as he expected of Anija's former best friend), but he's far more aware of his boundaries, far more aware of just what is proper and acceptable and what isn't. Unlike Hashirama, when he pushes past those boundaries, he's doing it _purposefully_.

The rat bastard.

“You did that on purpose!”

“No, I didn't. It was a mistake. I was just leaning in to watch you work and—”

“Do you think I'm stupid?! You're trying to use your physical closeness to distract me so that you can _steal the fresh oysters before I can use them up_ , don't lie to me!”

Another pout.

“If you would just give me a few before you start in on turning them into oyster seaweed soups...”

“...I wouldn't have any left! Just like that first time when I caved because of your puppy-dog eyes. I regret that! I regret that with every fiber of my being! Do you know how much time I had to waste to go back down to the ocean to get replacement ones?”

“I don't have puppy-dog eyes!”

“Then stop using them and other such tactics to distract me. You're not getting any of the fresh seafood before the everything is prepared. You've been here five moons now...control your appetite!”

The full lower lip trembles, actually fucking trembles. As if he's speaking to a five year old and telling him he's not allowed to eat any more dango.

(It's unfair how adorable Madara apparently is.)

“I can't help it! You don't understand! You grew up near the ocean your entire life. Do you know how _hard_ it is to get good ocean fish in Hi no Kuni? The contortions we have to go through? And the best quality stock from abalone and dried seaweed and the sardines...”

Is his mouth watering?

Tobirama squints. Yes, his mouth is watering.

“Mizu no Kuni is not so far away. The two countries are neighbors. And you are shinobi no mono. That distance should be easy for you to cover.”

The broad shoulders slump in response. “It's the water aspect. It's not difficult at all for some of the other clans” —and here he mutters something underneath his breath that Tobirama can't quite catch but is sure he heard the word 'Senju' somewhere— “but we Uchiha are katon-natured. It's simply too dangerous for us to attempt it ourselves, and the goods the Mizu fishermen ask for in return are not something we specialize in either.”

Reluctantly, Tobirama agrees. Everyone knows that the Uchiha's client clans are more geared to finished products, such as hanging lanterns, metalworks and the like. They are woefully lacking in client clans specializing in farming or trapping. And they also have no Hashirama to make up the slack.

Not for the first time, he's thankful that his own ancestors were much more far-sighted and chose to ally and cultivate smaller clans that are more food-oriented. Unlike the Uchiha who focused primarily on war, the Senju chose to raise those up who made good farmers and good hunters. The Hatake sprang from one of those farmer clients.

But his stomach churns at the thought of Hi no Kuni and his clan, and he suddenly, desperately wants to know how they are all doing.

He shouldn't. What if Madara suspects? What then? What possible reason does a Mizu civilian stationed out in the middle of nowhere have for asking about a foreign clan to which he has no connection?

And so he asks about Madara's family instead.

“They must be quite interesting, to produce someone like you? You're so contradictory. Absolutely addicted to seafood and fish, but you're completely terrified by water. And you get all prickly, like a porcupine, when I make the most innocuous of observations, and yet you constantly follow me and want to observe what I do everyday. You are utterly baffling.”

A sigh and, “is this another insult?” It seems Madara has become inured to him after all.

“Not at all. I'm simply curious about your family” —and his own, but Madara can't know that— “and what they are like. How are they coping, now that you're so far away?”

Ah, that drew out a small smile.

Curious, how Madara looks so handsome when thinking about his family.

“I don't really know how they are right now, but things weren't too badly off when I left. Izuna, my younger brother that is, had been annoyed ever since one of his rivals from another clan disappeared. I think that was around...a year and a moon ago. He increased his pranks on me accordingly, and I felt the need to re-introduce him to the fish in our ponds.”

Tobirama licks his lips. If he does this right...if he can do this without raising Madara's suspicions...

“Your brother, was he close to this disappeared rival of his? Is he mourning the rival's death?”

A shake of the head, and Tobirama rescues his cleaned scallops from that wild hair. “No, he's not mourning, and the other shinobi no mono isn't dead...at least, I think. Izuna is just annoyed because he held him in high regard, and this means he's only facing up against lesser enemies now. I think he always did enjoy the battles to some extent.”

Tobirama blinks. _High regard_ , himself? And here he'd always thought the other Uchiha hated him.

(Perhaps they are more alike that he thought.)

“If he's not dead...then why did this rival of his disappear? I thought shinobi no mono used disappearance to mean death.”

Dark eyes fix on him. “Not necessarily...though I am surprised you're so interested in this matter and my clan. Do you perhaps have feelings for me?”

Tobirama sputters. “Feelings?! Are you mad! As if I could ever have feelings for someone like you!”

The man smirks at him and...

And Tobirama takes back every kind thing he's ever thought about the man. He's _just_ as irritating as his brother. No! Even _worse_ than Hashirama.

Growling, he turns back to his scallops and, shoving them aside with perhaps more force than his necessary, starts off on the seaweed.

If his Usuba cracks down on the chopping board more forcefully than he is wont to do then, that has nothing to do with this situation. Nothing at all. And the fact that he imagines a certain someone underneath his blade is pure coincidence.

Hah, attracted to Uchiha Madara of all people! That'll be the day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deba is a kind of Japanese knife. While they would not have been at the correct time period (since we're still in warring states, and Deba is really supposed to come after that), I don't actually know of any older form of Japanese knife that would be used with seafood. So, deba it is.
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deba_b%C5%8Dch%C5%8D
> 
> Similarly, an Usuba is also a Japanese knife (for veggies).


	11. Part II: The Appreciation of Uchiha Madara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the prince gets ready to set another ball, in pursuit of the mysterious princess...

**The Appreciation of Uchiha Madara**  
  
Despite himself (or perhaps _because of himself_ ), Madara finds himself warming to his unexpected housemate. The young man's humor is dry and witty and, even though Madara himself is often the butt of those gently-ribbing observations and sly remarks, he finds himself becoming less and less annoyed with his clever housemate and more...intrigued.

Maybe it's the fact that he's already lived with Izumi for six moons and will be stuck with him for another six. Maybe it's the fact that those little teasing remarks are rather accurate, and Madara is honest enough with himself to admit to it readily and find amusement in them. Maybe it's the fact that the once boy is most _definitely_ turning into a man in a way that makes Madara's mouth run dry the few times he's seen him with his clothes in disarray, his black hair sleep-tousled and fluffy—was that just the bit of silver edging in there, or was it his imagination?

And who could blame him? The feathery tendrils (like a raven's wing gilt in the first silvery-gold light of the morning) sticks up at all angles those handful of times Madara's woken up earlier than Izumi, resembling a a bird fluffing more than anything else. (Madara itches to reach up and run his hand through that thick fluffy poof). It's unacceptably endearing, and if he had any less self-restraint, he would not doubt have already been tossed off the cliff by his cantankerous housemate.

The hair is the least of it! Those sleep-warmed garnet eyes, slowly blinking his dreams away, stuns Madara so much that he stands at the doorway to the kitchen, gawking like an utter _idiot_ for a full handful of heartbeats until he remembers himself. (Luckily, Izumi was still mostly asleep as he shuffled his way around his kitchen and didn't seem to have noticed.)

And his mouth! Those full lips opened in the roundest, cutest yawn!

And when Madara drops his gaze to stop his disobedient mind from thinking such thoughts, he is abruptly confronted with a glimpse of firm pecs, the nice ridges of a toned flat belly, and even the hint of strong thighs...!

Who can fault him for his reaction to such, such, such stimuli! It's not his fault that he nearly swallowed his own tongue!

Izumi, obviously, that's who.

The other man throws him a skeptical look when he becomes fully awake and aware, and Madara is left to flush in mortification.

Okay, so he's enough of a man to admit to himself that he finds Izumi attractive and his personality engaging. And with them being fairly close in age, and Izumi shooting up taller than Madara (the nerve!), it's occurred to him that he could take the opportunity to form a short-term relationship for the remainder of his time.

An...an autumn fling. It's not like they have any other options, as they are seemingly the only two to stay for any significant amount of time on the island (apparently the fishermen sometimes make deliveries that Izumi picks up—rice and other staples, he's told), and, truth be told, it would be nice to share his bed with someone he finds attractive and interesting.

Even if he's still insulted every single day.

They have very little in common, but short-term relationships are more about the physical and the spark, that burning fire and carnal enjoyment. He most certainly has enough of _that_ with his sometimes cook, sometimes humbler to make it all very, very possible and very, very enjoyable.

He thinks.

He hopes.

If he's right, he'll get a very nice bed partner for the next six moons and enough spice and fire to make this assignment less tedious. If not...Izumi might just decide to poison him for his temerity.

He thinks on that conundrum for a bit.

While it would be _such_ a waste to have all that delicious food wasted (not to mention that Madara is unlikely to react well to being poisoned), it would be very nice indeed to taste the other man.

He thinks again to those well-defined abdominals and almost drools.

 _Focus_ , he tells himself. Big head first, then small head later if he must. (Although at this point, he's really thinking that he must.)

And he's Uchiha Madara! The best the Uchiha clan has to offer! Feared by all his enemies except the ridiculously overpowered and equally ridiculously oblivious Senju Hashirama! (And possibly the man's younger brother, though he's not sure about that.) He can handle being rejected by the man who cooks for him for the duration of this mission!

Right, he just needs to go and ask him, adult to adult, if he'd care to share Madara's bed. They're both mature, well-adjusted men, after all...surely this will be nice and simple and straightforward.

It couldn't possibly go wrong.

Right?

-~&~-

Half a turn of the hourglass later, he's staring at dismay at the broken off top of the tiny set of scales he had been examining in Izumi's room, underneath Izumi's disapproving frown.

“Are you going to make habit of somehow breaking the items I hold dear from my dead mother?”

Madara cringes underneath those words. “I'm really sorry.” He bows three times over the broken rivet.

Izumi stares at him, his brow furrowed in consternation before he finally sighs. “What are you even doing in here again? Didn't you learn from last time?”

Madara thinks about the revelation he'd had earlier and, yeah, discretion is the better part of valor, and mentioning that he wants to bone Izumi and would Izumi be up for it is probably not the best right after he just trespassed and broke _yet another_ of Izumi's mother's precious momentos.

Kami-sama, why is he such an idiot?

But Izumi deserves some sort of answer, even if he can't tell the full truth right now. “I wanted to ask you something,” he says finally, “and then I was just distracted by the tiny set of scales. They were so small and cute, so I was just examining it, honestly.”

And he is being honest...he had noticed the tiny little scales at once, sitting next to the box he'd made for Izumi last time, and he'd been so intrigued by the notion of a commoner civilian family being interested in such things...it spoke to an advancement of the mind that isn't typical of the background that Izumi comes from. Farmers and other peasantry are a vital part of a country and perform necessary, important work, but they generally don't have the leisure or resources to spend on things not directly related to their livelihood.

Full sized scales would have been used as a part of daily life, but to have such tiny ones made, and from the padding, very obviously for a young inquisitive child? It spoke volumes about Izumi's family, about the opportunities they had that isn't typical at all for commoners. And it was something he used to remember his mother...

His mother must have been quite learned then. Perhaps one of the budding merchant class instead who married a farmer, as sometimes happens. And most definitely someone extraordinary, with the way her son is constantly honoring her, in his words and memories.

He knows so much about Izumi's personality, the way he looks in the morning, his crankiness when Madara does something extra stupid, the way his skin glistens when he's just finished bathing himself, the softness of his hair.

He knows almost nothing about the man's past.

His mother, his father, his other family. The employer who requested something Izumi wasn't willing to give and ended up driving him off to this remote island. The shinobi no mono clan he stayed with and gained experience from.

He wants to know. He needs to know.

And as usual, his mouth moves before his brain even has a chance to process anything. “Was she very intelligent?” he asks stupidly.

Izumi crosses his arms across his chest and practically glares at Madara. “Are you asking if my mother is stupid?”

Madara squawks and almost drops the two pieces of the broken scales again. (That'll be the day...breaking the precious item even further and earning more of Izumi's ire.) “No! Not at all. I simply...”

He hurriedly puts the pieces back on the table, carefully tilting each piece to rest gently on the wooden surface. “Something like this set of scales...it's not typical for commoners to have, is it? It's too small to be of much use on a daily basis, so it must have been something she had made for you. And it would have been quite valuable.”

“Ah. Yes, she did come from some means. Not at a lot—some.” But his arms are still crossed, as if he does not quite trust Madara.

Given Madara's history of past incursions in Izumi's room, one of which just happened, the other man may have reasonable cause. He shifts, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “But it's not just some means, is it? To try to encourage this kind of interest—and I see the stains of metals and fluids—she must have been quite brilliant, no? To even want to encourage her son into such things, when there can be no benefit to your livelihood...”

Izumi stares at him as if he's gone crazy. Perhaps he has. Perhaps that's why he can't seem to stop himself from prying into his housemate's background, his housemate's life, when he has just proven himself untrustworthy with his housemate's possessions.

Again.

But Izumi must share in his craziness, because Madara soon sees the frustration leave the other man in a huff, that dark head of hair shaking ruefully. “I suppose you would have been curious at some point...yes, my mother's background is different. She was always interested in the natural world, and liked to study it at leisure. And since she came of some small means, she had some small leisure to devote to it. It helps that my maternal grandparents were very indulgent of their only daughter.”

The man's garnet eyes soften as he thinks of her. “And my father loved that about her. She could do everything that was expected of her in her marriage, but she was also so much more than that. Always inquisitive and thinking...and when she had my older brother—”

Madara blinks. “An older brother?”

Izumi nods. “I'm the second of four...”

So many. Almost like his own family.

“Why didn't they leave with you, when your employer made demands of you? Are they held in bondage?” If so, Madara will send word to his clan and have them rescued.

Izumi shakes his head. “Nothing like that. There was some fighting, one of the perpetual wars and battles that plague all of these lands. My younger brothers were caught up in them and...”

Oh.

Just like his youngest brothers then.

...and just like Hashirama's youngest brothers as well.

He had always known these things didn't only affect shinobi no mono, but he's never really thought about the civilians suffering in exactly the same way. The same pain of losing siblings to war...young innocents cut down for little reason.

Kuro-oji. Togakushi. Kou.

Kuro-oji to poison meant for their father. Togakushi from childhunters. Myo-o, the youngest, because they were so busy with war, he fell sick and didn't tell anyone about it. And by the time they realized...it was too late.

“I understand how that feels,” Madara admits. “Of my four younger brothers, only one survives. The others...were also caught up in wars that they had little to do with.”

A surprisingly gentle hand moves on top of his own, and he looks at surprise at Izumi rubbing across his knuckles. “But you have one left, don't you? Just like I do. One Otouto left for you, but for me it's my Anija. And they are precious to us, aren't they?”

Izumi thinks to Izuna. Thinks to how he's looking forward to the bounty that Madara will bring back as payment for his service, thinks to his little brother playing with the clan children and even of his muted almost-concern with the disappearance of his rival and enemy. Izuna, precious, beloved and the only sibling he has left. No other little brothers now. No sisters at all. Not even a close cousin.

Just Izuna.

He closes his eyes briefly. “Yes,” he agrees, enjoying the soothing thumb over his wrist.

And then he opens them again. “But why is your Anija not here with you then? Was the Daimyo so strict in only allowing you this position?”

The hands on his hesitates, and then, to Madara's dismay, retracts. “Nothing like that. When my employer made such demands of me...I had to leave in a hurry. My mother died over a year ago while my brother was away on long-term business. My father soon followed her and left only my employer. And he...”

The man looks away, those garnet eyes troubled and dark. “He wanted to force me to give him what I would not—” and Madara freezes as he finally _gets_ it “—and so I had no choice but to leave without a means to even tell my brother where I had gone. Or my cousin. I have a beloved cousin too, but she was also away on long-term business and at the end...” Izumi swallows. “In the end, I am simply one person with little power, and my employer is more important and has considerably more influence. If I stayed, I risked making everything so much worse or betraying myself. I could do neither. So I left and...and I fear that I have lost them forever.”

Izumi turns his eyes, almost black with the seriousness of his thoughts, to the table where Madara had set the set of scales he had broken. “All I could bring with me of value, all that I had time to bring of my family, are those. The wire, the scales, the compass necklace. I know we have fallen far, that _I_ have fallen far, but I had hoped, I had thought to have at least those. To remember my mother. To remember even my father's happier days, when mother lived. And to help me think of my older brother and my cousin.”

Madara gulps, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

And he had broken it, of course. Like the ham-fisted idiot he is. Gone to find Izumi to ask him to start a relationship and then, when he didn't find Izumi inside, examined his little set of scales instead and dropped it when Izumi appeared behind him, thereby breaking the little rivet that held the top part affixed to the bottom.

He chews his cheek, a heated shame crawling up through the pit of his belly.

No, he isn't going to leave it like this. Not after he deprived Izumi of something so precious to him.

At the though, he reaches out and cups Izumi's hands in his own. “I promise you,” he says, staring deeply into the startled man's eyes. “I promise you I will find a way to fix it somehow. You'll have your mother's gift of scales back again.”

The garnet eyes widen in disbelief. “It is not so easy,” Izumi whispers. “This isn't like the wire, where a little bit of acid and a bunch of elbow grease cleared the rust. The metal portion is actually broken.”

“It is not impossible for a Katon-specialist, like I am. If I can find some source of iron, then I can find a way to smelt it and, using a mix of the other elements, mold the hot iron. Don't worry,” he adds, seeing the alarmed look in Izumi's eyes. “I won't hurt myself. Blacksmithing is in my family line as well, and I do know a few techniques utilizing my current abilities.”

Izumi pulls his hands away and scowls. “Worried? Who's worried? My only thought is that you might burn down the bamboo forest we are currently residing in!”

But Madara had seen the spark of genuine concern in Izumi's eyes, and he laughs off the man's reply. As sharp as always.

He's really come to appreciate it, in a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where I got the names this time: https://sennokami.tumblr.com/post/182666501469/theory-about-madara-and-izunas-names
> 
> Also, please note, no update next week since I'll be out of town.


	12. Part II: The Appreciation of Senju Tobirama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince sees the princess dancing in a dress that sparkles like the sun and begins to fall in love with her...

**The Appreciation of Senju Tobirama**  
  
This time, as Madara sets off to locate the items he will need to fix the rivet—iron, he mentally catalogues, iron and heat and water to cool—it is with an almost lighthearted skip to his steps. He finishes the chawanmushi Izumi has prepared for him for supper (ah, and how is he to believe that Izumi does not care for him when he feeds Madara so well and makes one of his favorites?) and, after a _gochisousamadesita_ , hurries out the door, ideas already sparking in his head about how he'd find what he needed.

The heat is easy. He is the foremost katon-user in his entire clan of katon-users. The water, likewise, is simple. While he is surrounded by salt water and Izumi would probably gut him if he used the precious spring water for such frivolity, he should be able to heat the salt water enough with his katon, collect the steam in the bamboo container he brought with him and cool it with his limited knowledge of hyoton.

The iron though, the iron is tricky. Just where is he to find metal, of all things, on this island? Yes, there are bits of metal things used in the construction of the cottage he and Izumi are currently living in, and as part of the lighthouse itself, but he's sure the Daimyo will renege on his agreement if he vandalizes the man's property like that. What he really needs is to find something like a shipwreck. There might be parts of the boat that has metal in it that he can use...or if he's really lucky, there will be a chest with a metal lock. But how would he even know if there was one of those around?

Who would know about such matters in this island?

The answer comes to him immediately, though it doesn't much help.

He gulps, imagining the long, sinuous form...the majesty of the green and blue scales...the grandeur in those large beautiful vermilion eyes (like the most enormous red rubies he's ever seen) and the majesty of that _powerful_ form.

Yes, the apparently resident dragon _would_ know about such matters, given that the sea is his domain. And, if he's being honest—and he is _always_ honest with himself—he really would like to see the dragon again. If only to thank him for helping with the lemon tree. There was no way Madara would have found the tree by himself.

But, and here he runs into his biggest snag yet, exactly how does he _find_ the dragon? The first time he'd interacted with him, he was drowning. The second time, the dragon found him and not the other way around. To go searching for the dragon deliberately seemed a bit of a hopeless task.

...but not as hopeless as searching for a seawreck that might not even exist or, if it did, might have sunk somewhere off the coast and not easily seen, even for a shinobi no mono. (And if there really was a wreck he could use that's sunk into the ocean, then he'll just leave it be. There is NO way he's going back into the ocean willingly.)

Right. So he'll search for a dragon, a celestial being of awesome power, that may or may not actually be on the island at this particular time and may or may not be doing dragon-y things like saving drowning people and calming storms (yes, yes, Madara knows that dragons can also begin storms, but there's no way that _his_ dragon would do such a thing) and helping the local fishermen. And even if the dragon is on the island, he doesn't know where it might be, so he'll just have to keep his eyes peeled for brilliant blue-green scales—

He looks around him and immediately wilts.

He'll have to keep his eyes peeled for brilliant blue-green scales in a thick bamboo forest. Bamboo. Which is also very, very green and, at this time of day, has a slight bluish cast.

This is not a good idea. This is a very, very bad idea and could take hours of futile searching.

(But it's not like he has a better idea.)

He turns and looks again at the metal sign on the cottage, on the little bits of iron incorporated into the lighthouse's door.

He's tempted. He's so very, very tempted. How easy it would be, how simple, to break off a little bit of the sign...he only needs a small amount to melt down and form into a new rivet. Surely, _surely_ the Daimyo wouldn't notice?

But Madara is no thief unless he gets paid to be one, and with his luck on this mission so far, it would be the first thing noticed and reported to Mizu's Daimyo. Best not to take chances and make moot his entire reason for being here on this monotous, if unexpectedly amusing, mission.

“Well,” he mutters to himself. “If I don't manage to succeed tonight, there is always the next. And the one after that as well.”

He's seen the dragon flying about sometimes at night, and he knows the dragon will come back. He just needs to be patient. Patient...and lucky.

“Hey-ho, who needs sleep?”

-~&~-

Tobirama isn't exactly sure why he's following Madara like this, cloaked in his dragon cloak and with the fire-rat robe thrown on top for added heat (he's always been skinny and lanky, and skinny and lanky forms don't exactly conserve heat particularly well, especially not now that autumn is truly setting in). There's just something about the other man. Something that makes him worry that Madara will somehow tumble into the ocean again and drown, just like he had when Tobirama first spotted him some six moons ago. Except if Tobirama's asleep in his bed this time instead of flying past by chance, the Uchiha might actually drown.

Best to follow Madara and keep him out of trouble. At least this way, hordes of Uchiha won't descend upon the island looking for their lost (and drowned) heir.

...and how strange is that?

For a shinobi no mono, for the heir of a _noble shinobi no mono family_ , Madara is surprisingly clumsy and accident-prone. Tobirama will never understand how he managed to live to the age he's gotten. And maintain such a terrifying reputation as well! It boggles the mind how this, this, this _oaf_ is the same Uchiha Madara that his clansmen run from (other than Anija, that is).

He's ridiculously wrong-footed on this island. Prone to out-of-tune singing (though Tobirama did manage to dig out a small shamisen, and apparently what Madara lacks in throat and lung ability, he has in his fingers and wrists in _spades_ ). Almost petulant when Tobirama makes him eat wakame (and really, is he two? Turning his nose up at wakame when he all but snatches the bowl out of Tobirama's hands when he makes ochazuke or chawanmushi). Dogging Tobirama's heels on most days, peppering him with questions about his family and background, so nosy and eager to learn more about Tobirama that Tobirama hasn't even been able to truly ask about the circumstances in Hi no Kuni in all these months, lest he give himself away.

(It's something that grates at him, alternately twisting his insides up in grief and guilt, resolve and resignation, love and rage.)

Madara is...

He hides behind an outcropping, cloaking himself with the mist that permeated the bamboo forest to keep his dragon shape from being discovered.

Madara is irritating and petulant and childish and so very, very not what Tobirama had always thought of him as.

And that's as far as he's willing to go for now, even in the security of his own mind.

-~&~-

One time is happenstance. Twice is a coincidence. But three times?

Well, to be fair, this third time, Madara thinks he's shocked _both_ himself and the dragon.

He blinks, gaping at the shimmering blue-green scales surrounded by wisps of smoke—smoke from _his_ katon—the beautiful surface unharmed by the draping orange-gold sheath of fur surrounding it.

He's done it now. Goodbye life and nice knowing you and all that.

He gulps as the dragon rises, gracefully arching its spine and throwing off the last tendrils of black smoke around it. He should be getting away. He should be running the fuck away, but whatever is left of his mind is taken up with almost gibbering terror (and horror).

He threw a fireball at the dragon. _He_ threw a _fireball_ at the _dragon_.

Fuck.

No really, fuck.

It wasn't like he meant to! Just, he had heard something behind him and spun around, a katon leaving his mouth before he could even think about it. It was habit! Habit born out of a lifetime on the battlefield, where _not_ doing so meant he would be taken down by his enemy's blades.

(Not the Senju, though. The Senju always left him to Hashirama, and his old friend never fought against him in earnest.)

He could only watch in stunned disbelief as the fireball hit the dragon full on. He had winced at the impact, fully expecting a roar of pain (and a flash of those super sharp teeth as he's rent to pieces for his _gall_ ). Instead, the fireball dissipated as if his fireball was as harmless as the tiny flicker of light from a candle. A small flash of heat that only served to warn. (It was almost insulting.)

Once enough of the smoke had faded away, he saw the bright orange-gold cloak of fur and been stunned anew. The fur was sleek, as bright and alive as the core of Izuna's Grand Fireball, the fine strands of animal hair almost seeming to dance with reds and oranges and golds (and even some smattering of blues here and there). It was larger than he would have expected, given what he'd heard of it in myth, but he recognized it at once. A legendary _robe of the fire rats_ of that continent across the sea!

He's so mesmerized by it, and by the contrast of those bright colors reminiscent of the hottest flames against the cool and calming blue-green scales of the dragon underneath that he almost fails to comprehend just how serious a mess he is in.

He threw a fireball. At the dragon that saved his life and has lots of _really sharp and really long teeth._

It doesn't really matter that the dragon happens to be wearing a mythical robe of legend that protects against all fire and is basically unharmed (and looking even more majestic and awe-inspiring, holy fuck) because Madara _still_ tried to murder it. That he failed is neither here nor there.

And that dragon is heading right for him.

What are the chances of him successfully fighting it off and fleeing for his life? Or even winning?

His eyes flicker up to those long, huge, big teeth.

Yeah, no. Not going to happen.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

And ten thousand other shits on top.

_Goodbye life. Goodbye Izuna. Goodbye Izumi, you crazy, tempting, delicious conundrum of a man._

The dragon reaches him in the space of a single breath, his big ass huge mouth reaching forward, right for Madara's torso and...

...and rubs against Madara's shirt?

“I hate getting soot on myself.”

Madara's brain promptly shorts. “Soot...what?” He repeats dumbly.

Irritated red eyes glare at him. “Soot. From the leaves of the bamboo trees that burned and landed on me. Soot stains.”

Madara thinks through that statement. Then thinks through it again. And then decides he must be dead already and dreaming in the afterlife. Because that makes about as much sense as this situation does right now.

“Aren't you going to kill me?” Mentally, he slaps himself. It is _not_ a good idea to give the dragon such an idea, and he can feel Izuna yelling at him in his head.

“Why would I kill you?” The dragon sounds genuinely puzzled.

Madara sputters. “Because I just...I just...” He looks again at the dragon, at that huge snout rubbing the last bit of soot off on Madara's shirt and remembers the rows of deadly teeth inside. He snaps his mouth shut as his brain _finally_ catches up with his mouth.

Right, best not to make an argument for the dragon killing him. Shut up mouth.

“Actually,” he says, hurriedly, “never mind that. I was looking for you, you know. I was wondering if you knew if there's a shipwreck on this island that might have some iron on it somewhere.”

The dragon (thankfully) moves away from him, and his head tilts to the side, like a bird or a dog.

The action is almost...cute, and Madara has to fight with himself to keep from running away in fear (cause, _dragon teeth and attempted murder_ ) or cooing. The sentiments are so contradictory and incongruous that Madara nearly gives himself a headache.

Seriously, how is he both charmed and scared out of his pants at the same time?!

“Brave human,” the dragon rumbles, settling back on his haunches, those jewel-red eyes sparkling with mirth. “Asking more of me when you haven't even thanked me for my help last time.”

Oh yeah.

Madara ducks his head, his face burning with shame. “I, I apologize for the oversight. I do indeed respectfully thank you for your help last time, and hope your august self will see past my pitifulness to render me aid this time as well.”

The dragon hurrumphs. “Hmpf. I think I liked you better when you were being demanding and mouthy and thoughtless.”

Well, excuse him!

Madara crosses his arms, suddenly sullen. If the dragon wants to eat him, then he should get about eating him and _not_ insulting him at every turn.

Kami-sama, it is just his luck to run into not one, but _two_ cantankerous individuals on this island, both with the same dry, insulting humor.

“And I think I liked you better when you were flying around being all pretty,” he shoots back.

A white feathery eyebrow raises. “Oh? You think me pretty, do you?”

Madara's cheeks burn again, but he stubbornly carries on. “For a flying lizard, yes. Very sparkly and pretty. Now are you going to help me or not?”

-~&~-

Tobirama stares at the impudent Uchiha in front of him.

A part of him is insulted. Pretty? _Pretty_?! He's supposed to be terrifying! Powerful and strong in this form. Something to prevent people from attacking him or hurting him (or figuring out who he is and dragging him back to Butsuma).

He briefly entertains the idea of knocking the idiot down on his ass, but decides against it. He has a distinct feeling he'll never hear the end of the caterwauling as Izumi if he does so now.

(But the idea is quite tempting.)

And maybe...maybe a part of him is also flattered. Flattered that Madara seems to think this form of his pretty. Flattered that Madara was actually looking for him, seeking for his help. Flattered that Madara is actually going to go to such trouble to repair his little set of scales.

An intriguing man, Uchiha Madara.

Tobirama thought he's done being surprised by him. Thought he knew him fairly well by now, in all his petulant, childish, irritating and yet endearing way.

 _This is like the lemon tree again, isn't it,_ he thinks to himself.

And he realizes just what it is that lies at the heart of Uchiha Madara. The reason his brother, his dearest Anija thought so well of him all those years ago and why he continues to hold him in high esteem.

Naive sincerity.

 _No_ , he thinks again, looking at the determined and yet accepting look in the other man's black eyes. Not naive. Madara's under no illusions what might happen to him for his temerity, for his utter daring.

He has no illusions...but he's doing it anyways.

Sincerity, yes, but a defiant sincerity. A knowledge that the worst can happen, but doing it anyways. Simply because he made a promise to Tobirama to fix his set of scales. Simply because he felt guilt for breaking Tobirama's momento of his mother.

“Yes. I'll help.”


	13. Part II: The Understanding of Clans

**The Understanding of Clans**   
  
The dragon leads him to a hidden little cave off the coast where Madara can see the telltale signs of a shipwreck and points to it. “There's actually some weapons in there as well. It looks like they were transporting weapons for some war or something, and the entire thing sunk when they very likely ran afoul of bad weather and then crashed into the rocky sea floor surrounding this island.”

Madara blinks. Rocky sea floor? But wouldn't that mean, “how do fishermen come here then? I know they do because—” Izumi gets his rice and some other non-sea related essentials from them “—I've seen them come to the island. Wouldn't the seabed make this very dangerous?”

The dragon tilts his head and considers him thoughtfully. “Their boats are generally smaller,” the dragon says, “and the fishermen both know this area much better than traveling warriors, and I sometimes guide them. There is a path around the most dangerous and rock-ridden areas, of course. Have no fear. You will find a way off in due time.”

“No!” Madara says immediately. “That's not why I asked at all! I just...have a fisherman who's supposed to come pick me up in six moon phases. I was simply worried for his survival, given his elderly nature.”

Though, now that the dragon mentions it, Madara _is_ relieved he won't be stuck here indefinitely.

 _Would it really be so bad, though_ , a voice within him asks. _To be here with Izumi and the dragon for company, no more wars, no more fighting...a peaceful existence tending the fires of the lighthouse._

Actually, come to think of it, the fact that this part of the sea was so rocky was likely why a lighthouse was needed in the first place! Particularly if the Daimyo of this country lost some valuable warriors and entire shipments of weapons due to the lighthouse not being tended!

It suddenly makes sense why the Daimyo was so willing to pay such a hefty price for Madara. Madara and Izuna are probably the only two people he knows of who could maintain that fire even when nowhere near it, asleep or traipsing around trying to find metal!

“Your concerns do you credit,” the dragon says, turning its long graceful head towards the wreck again. “Well, now that I've helped you, I'd best be off.” And before Madara can say another word, the dragon disappears in a super-fast blur of blue and green, leaving him standing at the wreck, watching his companion's departure with dismay.

“Wait!” He calls futilely. “But I haven't even thanked you yet! Or even for that time with the lemon tree! Come back!”

But he gets no response.

Madara kicks at the bow of the wreck in frustration. Again! The bastard does this to him again!

...he wanted to speak with the celestial being some more.

They had such an interesting conversation while the dragon slowed his pace to match Madara's. He had learned so much. Dragons have families! Yes, the old legends always said so, but here's undeniable proof! An older brother! A father!

But it seems that, as with the legends, his dragon's tale seems to be just as sad.

(And yes, the dragon is his now. He's helped Madara twice and saved his life. Madara gets to call dibs.)

His father ordered him to do something he was morally against. His brother, who is the only person with enough power to withstand the might of their father (who must be Ryu-o himself with such power—and does this mean that Otohime is real and truly did marry Hoori?) was away on important matters. And so Madara's dragon is exiled here, to stand guard over this area. He protects the fishermen on their tasks and saves drowning sailors (and Madara).

It is strange, however, that both Izumi and Madara's dragon had to deal with such circumstances. Ah well, it must be because they are second sons, with just enough influence and power to come to the notice of the truly powerful, but not enough to really do anything about it should that notice be negative.

Truly, the lot of a second son is harsh. Both Izumi and the dragon now have suffered because of it. Had they the power to struggle against their powerful lords and fathers, then they may never have met with such misfortune, to be away from family and friends for so long in the case of Izumi, to be exiled to a remote island, away from the dragon court in the case of Madara's dragon.

...and it makes him worried for Izuna. With Madara being gone for so long, with Izuna the only one left of the main family still in the compound at this moment...

Thankfully, Madara's father is no monster. And even if he were, the Clan Elders are very fond of Izuna. Izuna may be a second son, but he's loved almost as much as Madara himself. Madara would be concerned for his position, even, if Izuna had a single traitorous bone in his body (he doesn't). Even if Madara's father look leave of his senses, Izuna would have the ability to resist.

Thinking of Izuna is bittersweet. His little brother must be fully grown now. Just turned into a man himself. Just like Izumi.

Izuna had still been a gangly youth when Madara left. Awkward long limbs (too long for his slower growing body), his voice not yet quite settled (a fact that amused Madara to no end). He was all impetuous hotheaded youth, delightfully playful, with a not-so-delightfully tendency to prank Madara, sweet and prickly and ridiculous all at once. Sly, in that way that little brothers can often be, but despite everything, Madara knows that his brother is still thinking of him, still thinking of their family and clan.

Will Madara's precious little brother be different? Will he still recognize him when he finally gets back from this mission?

He doesn't know, and the thought is unsettling. Change...

The Uchiha don't really like change. Change means things they can't predict well. Change means their natural abilities with the Sharingan isn't as much as an edge, a competitive advantage as it could be. Change means that a clan with a slightly lesser mastery over their skills but with many more skills, come out on top. Clans like the Senju.

They are not so adaptable as their Senju nemesary, whose entire clan philosophy functions on utilitarian lightning fast experimentation. It's why that clan that houses Madara's old friend doesn't have a single thing they focus on, but each member finds their own niche and masters to the best of his or her ability. It's why they are so dangerous. And quickly changing circumstances, _chaos_ , benefits them in ways that benefit few other clans.

They are dangerous. Or perhaps, they _were_ dangerous.

After the ludicrous happenings with that clan, and embroiled as they are in a civil war, who knows whether they will survive? They could weaken themselves so much that they will be easy pickings for another clan once the dust starts to settle...or perhaps one faction will be victorious, and they overall clan will change for the better.

In his heart of hearts, Madara wishes for Hashirama to succeed. Let him throw out his father. Let him tear him down and come to Madara's family with a genuine offer of peace. Madara's chosen his clan a long time ago, but if circumstances change and if peace isn't a double-edged sword anymore, the way it was when the second son Tobirama was still around, then he would have no compunction about accepting his old friend's hand.

Let Hashirama have won when he returns. Let the Senju clan be ready to relay a meaningful, fair peace treaty without danger to Madara's own. And Madara will set to convincing his father. Tajima is reasonable. And he was fully aghast (as aghast as Madara himself) to learn what had been happening in that clan.

Travesty. Abomination.

It makes Madara almost pity Senju Tobirama, despite the threat he presented to Madara's precious little brother. And he wonders, sometimes, exactly what became of the man. Did he find peace in the great wide world? Or is he, as Madara sometimes thinks, long since dead?

A clanless shinobi no mono is a vulnerable thing. Connections to people and resources are paramount in this blood-drenched world that they live in. And as much as Madara wishes, for Hashirama's sake, that the man's younger brother is simply living the live of a recluse, perhaps on some isolated island given his Suiton nature, he's realistic enough to know that Tobirama is most probably dead, likely in some shallow unmarked grave, like all the other second sons who run off.

He stills then as the thought comes to him.

Second son, again.

The curse of the second son who draws the wrong sort of attention.

That is three now.

Then he shakes himself. Honestly, it's not like him to get so maudlin. He's here for a task, and he will complete it and make it up to Izumi for breaking yet another momento.

With that thought, Madara pads over to the half-rotten ship. He spots the exposed dented and rusted swords immediately, peeping out from where the cargo hold's ceiling and walls had rotted away, and carefully and gingerly pulls one out.

It's lost its sharpness and there's rust snaking all over it. The handle is a mess of dangerous mush, and the leather looks like it's been chewed. But—Madara takes out a kunai and scrapes away at some of the rust—it looks like there's still enough whole material here for Madara to use. He doesn't need much after all. And while it's not iron, steel should do just fine.

Which means another trip to the lemon tree to remove the rust, then a complex and concentration-intensive round of using katon jutsu to both smelt it and create the fresh water he'll need to cool it down. But the most tricky part will be to shape it. Of course, if he uses some of his rudimentary Doton, then...

-~&~-

After he “leaves” Madara, Tobirama spends a bit more time tailing the Uchiha secretly, a bit curious as to how exactly he'll fix Tobirama's scales with old rusted swords. It's an easy enough thing to wrap his chakra around him so tightly that he gives none off to be sensed, should Madara even be infusing his chakra to sense anyways. And he sees Madara fetch the lemons, accelerate the rust removal process with a combination of the juice and katon and then...

Oh.

Wow.

That is really smart.

Very innovative, especially given how traditional and rigid the Uchiha as a whole are.

Perhaps it's just Madara, and Madara's different from the rest of the Uchiha? Or perhaps...perhaps the Uchiha aren't quite as what Tobirama always thought of them.

He's already seen for himself that Madara is somewhat more charming and engaging than he'd originally thought the man (and now more ingenious as well, which, shouldn't be all that surprising given the man's reputation but it _really, really_ is). Is it so shocking that he's perhaps misjudged the Uchiha clan as a whole? His father always said...!

But his father also wanted to marry him. It was brought on by mother's death and father losing his faculties shortly after, but it ultimately also means Tobirama's father can be wrong.

His father always said the Uchiha are hidebound, that they rely on being the masters of the things they already can do well and forever honing and honing them until they are the ultimate paragons in that area. A true master of katon. A true master at illusions, what with their eyes, and a true master at theft.

As unbending as steel. As rigid as an iron bar.

And Tobirama's seen for himself that the Uchiha clan prefers certainty over uncertainty. That they like to predict and use their, admittedly, excellent capabilities to read a battlefield in all circumstances. This also means that the best tactic that Tobirama has used against them is organized chaos. The Senju specialize in adaptability and reacting. Their ranks are fluid, made up of people specializing in all sorts of areas and so able to change without even a moment's notice.

The Uchiha don't know what to do when everything suddenly changes on them and there is so much chaos that ten thousand possibilities immediately open up, each as likely as the next. It is impossible to predict in such circumstances, and Tobirama's made it an art to spring it on them, much to Anija's great consternation.

But...

But he's also seen Madara change and yield and bend in these six moons. He's seen the man back down and admit he was wrong and become more and more thoughtful. And now this. Using his katon to create a tiny little super-heater, encased by earthen walls he shaped using his doton, to melt down the metal and then pour it into another little doton mold he created to create the necessary shape...and then dousing the entire thing in the clean water he created by boiling salty seawater, catching the steam and allowing it to cool back into a liquid with the container he'd brought.

Brilliant, innovative, completely not suited for the battlefield, but admirable all the same. And demonstrating a nimbleness of mind, an understanding of the basics and then a willingness to use them in other, nontraditional ways, that Tobirama can't help but appreciate.

Madara's very ease with it speaks to the fact that his clan must have encouraged this type of thinking, this type of experimenting.

So perhaps...

Perhaps the Uchiha aren't quite as unbending and hidebound as Tobirama had thought.

Madara certainly isn't.


	14. Part II: The Seduction of Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea how coherent this is since I am powering through a migraine, and I swear the words are blurring in front of my eyes.

**The Seduction of Dreams**  
  
He returns to the adjacent living quarters of the lighthouse keeper tired and exhausted, but triumphant. It is a quick moment's work to slip the pieces of the scales back together, and another moment's concentration to sneak into a sleeping Izumi's room and set it carefully next to the other items on the table.

He has to smile at the sight of the three items, all lined neatly and precisely in a row and lit up by the light of the moon. Everything so orderly, all the edges perfectly aligned and parallel to the table edge, each item the same three centimeters away from the previous. How so very like the man that Madara has come to know. How so very Izumi.

His eyes slide over to the sweetly slumbering form of his cantankerous housemate, his erstwhile irritant, his talented cook. The dark hair glints silver in the moonlight and the face is relaxed as it never quite fully is during the day, when the man is aware. His pink lips part with every tender breath, and if Madara were any less noble of mind, he would lay claim to those soft petals and taste the delightful nectar within.

He is not an unscrupulous sod. And having worked so hard to make amends for yet another injury he did to the man he desires, he is not about to commit another one, and certainly not one so unforgivable as that.

If he ever manages to kiss Izumi, he wants it to be when those dark ruby eyes are awake and aware, sparking with anticipation and excitement, as eager for Madara as Madara is for him, playful smiling lips slanting against his own. And if he can't have that, then he'll settle for hopeless dreams instead. He'll meet this man in the dark of the night, within the privacy of his own mind, and keep him for years there until he, undoubtedly, falls for someone else.

Or perhaps never falls for anyone else. Perhaps he will need to do his clan duty and marry well. Not a completely antagonistic marriage as so many other clan heirs are forced into, but still one most likely of compatibility of minds, rather than of bodies and desires, of clan and family fortunes rather than his own personal one.

“If I could share the rest of my time here with you, loving you and knowing you fully before I am to leave,” he whispers, careful not to wake his companion, “then I shall be very happy indeed.”

He spends a few more moments, brief in the grand scale of time, contemplating the evenness of the slumbering man's breaths, the richness of his repose—“such a sweet smile on your lips...what do you dream of, Izumi-kun”—before slipping quietly from the room. Before long, he chases his own happiness and tumbles with the lovely red-eyed man in a bamboo grove hidden deep within his dreams.

-~&~-

Tobirama stays up most of the night, considering what he's heard. It's not _so_ shocking, he supposes. They are alone together, isolated in this little island in the middle of the grand ocean. With the only company being Tobirama, he supposes that it only makes sense that Madara has begun to fall for him.

Things would be very different, he knows, if they were on the mainland. The other man would have more options, and a year is a very long time to go without companionship. If he had access to some pretty little thing or if he wasn't forced to be around Tobirama all the time, then it is doubtful Madara would feel this way.

(Tobirama isn't an idiot. He knows he's not the easiest person to get along with. He's opinionated and bossy and loves nothing more than poking holes into other people's stupidity.)

But still, he feels sort of—flattered?—at the attention.

For a moment, he lets himself wonder...what would it feel like to allow Madara his wishes? Spend the remaining six moons by his side, as lovers rather than just somewhat companionable housemates. Perhaps help the other man actually sing in tune (though that might require a miracle), and perhaps Madara can teach him the shamisen.

Lie in the other man's arms, safe in that solid, warm embrace, enfolded in a pair of arms that he actually _wants_ around him.

...and perhaps poking fun at how he's grown taller than the other man.

A small—very, very small—part of Tobirama delights in this, that he is just those three centimeters taller than the older and more powerful Uchiha. He may never reach his Anija's height, but he'll have this at the least.

Hah, take _that_ Uchiha clan.

Madara is so different from everyone Tobirama's known. So carefree, in a sense. So open, wearing his heart on his sleeve. It's almost incredible considering all their backgrounds and the world from which they spring. And so very, very different than Tobirama's father.

What was it that Tobirama thought a while back? Defiantly sincere?

Yes.

Most certainly.

That same sincerity that allows it to be Tobirama's choice to accept, now that Madara has already chosen to want. It would be Tobirama allowing the other man close and letting him in. Madara has made his move, and it is time for Tobirama's.

That thought is...very appealing.

Tobirama shivers even through the warmth of his futon.

To reciprocate Uchiha Madara's affections. To allow the other man to know that he had heard that quiet confession and that he returns those sentiments.

And suddenly, he _wants_.

Uchiha Madara, that man who can't sing to save his life, but can bring tears with only his fingers and a shamisen. Uchiha Madara, that stiff unbendable Uchiha...who is not so stiff after all and is delightfully innovative and intriguing all on his own. Uchiha Madara, with eyes so open and relaxed and _trusting_ around Tobirama that Tobirama almost wonders how he's managed to stay alive as a shinobi no mono all the years he's been alive...

Uchiha Madara, who he shouldn't have.

Beyond the fact that he is Senju and Madara Uchiha, the other man doesn't even know that the low cook “Izumi” is actually Tobirama. And a relationship begun in pretense, on the foundation of a _lie_ , is a relationship doomed from the start. Nothing good can come of it.

He rises, walking over to the table, running a reverant finger along the edge of the scales, now fully fixed.

Madara went through all that trouble, just to fix this. He did so much, just because of his sentiment and the promise he made Tobirama.

And Tobirama...Tobirama wants Uchiha Madara, but he can't have him. He can't have Madara in the flesh.

(But he can dream. Dream of an open smile, and black eyes looking upon him with trust even as Madara says something that will assuredly deserve him getting fed nothing but stock for a while. Dream of tumbling through a thick bamboo grove and rolling around on the warm sun-dappled grass.)

He can't have him in the flesh, but he can _thank_ him in the flesh. He knows just the thing.

-~&~-

If Madara gets something like this every time he goes through a ridiculously tedious project, then he really needs to go through more tedious projects!

“You've outdone yourself, Izumi-kun,” he slurps happily. The warm broth is perfect, as Izumi's signature broth always is, but it's really the contents of the “treasure bag” that Madara is most interested in. “How did you get fresh pork?”

The other man simply smirks and picks at a cuticle on his finger. “I have my ways. And...I take it, you like the meal?”

Like?

“That is far too weak a word for my feelings towards this dish,” Madara says, rolling the rice cake inside his mouth happily. “I've loved Oden since I was a little child!”

And, ah, kami-sama, the soup's flavor and the porky tones even soaked into the rice cake! And the giant green scallions stuffed in the fried tofu skin treasure bag, alongside the most tender slices of pork belly and the soft rice cake...

A slender hand lifts one of the skewers and holds the fish cakes, rolled spinach and cabbage parcels and giant scallions on it towards Madara's mouth. “You should try the other parts and not just the _takarabukuro_ , Madara. I assure you, they're just as good.”

Well, if the cook himself says so, then Madara will believe it!

Without thinking, he leans forward, snagging the fish cake with his teeth, delighting in the burst of rich clean seafood that explodes into his mouth and...

...and then his brain catches up with his mouth, and he stares up at a frozen Izumi in shock.

“I...” he begins, suddenly uncomfortable.

He just ate out of the other man's hand. That level of intimacy...he might as well have proposed!

“I—”

Izumi recovers first as usual (if he weren't a cook, he'd make a half-decent ninja). “I should not have startled you like that, Madara-san. I apologize for being so forward. It was not my intention. You need not worry about how I might misinterpret your action. I quite assure you that I understand it was only because I thrust it upon you so suddenly and that of course you hold no such affection for me—”

Izumi is blushing, retreating, and...

And if he pulls away, so will all of Madara's opportunity to have him.

No. Madara can't let this opportunity slide. He wants Izumi. Wants Izumi to _know_ he wants him. Wants to spend the rest of his time here in the other man's arms.

(Wants to eat his delicious food from his own hand and feed him morsels in exchange.)

Madara catches his hand before he can pull away.

“Izumi,” he says, caressing the back of that hand in his. “Izumi, please. Will you not give me a chance? You do not know it yet, but I—”

Izumi is shaking his head. “Don't say it.”

“I desire you. If you do too...”

A thought comes to him, and Madara trails off, looking around at the meal with new eyes.

“You feel for me, don't you?”

The broth, made from the precious dried abalone that Izumi dives for everyday. Available, but still difficult to gather and better used for other purposes, rather than a broth infusion. Fresh pork belly, near impossible to get in an island without any pigs living on it, which meant it had to be from a fisherman's delivery shipment. Precious and rare and better saved and dried and salted for the larder. Rice cakes, requiring hours of pounding and hard work.

All for him.

What was it the other man had said so many months ago? He preferred freshly grilled fish and steamed rice. A simple meal with simple, distinct flavors. But yet he's been cooking the things that _Madara_ likes to eat, _Madara's_ favorite foods, no matter how much time went into the making of them and...

And Madara's heart swells with fondness for the other man.

-~&~-

Tobirama didn't expect that Madara would broach this subject. He didn't expect this.

It would be so easy to accept. To give himself to Madara for just a few short moons, to enjoy the other man's embrace.

(He wants it. He wants Madara.)

But...

(What harm could it do?)

“I...”

It's a lie. A big, stinking lie. Madara doesn't even know who he is. He would be _cheating_ the other man.

(What harm could it do to just...give in, for a little while? Have the man's comfort for just six moons?)

“Will you deny it? When I can see it in your eyes so clearly now?”

But his eyes are lying. Everything about him is a pretense! And while it's one thing to cheat one's partner like this on a mission, it's another entirely when Tobirama actually _likes_ the other man, _wants_ him. Has come to care for him.

“Please give me a chance. Don't turn me away. Let me in.”

(It's only physical. Only for such a short while. They'd never see each other again. It can do no real harm.)

“Yes.”


	15. Part II: The Love of Uchiha

**The Love of Uchiha**  
  
If someone were to ask Madara, he would say that the following months had gone by quickly. Too quickly.

He's been in love before. In and out of love as all young folk, giggling at the slightest pretense of a joke, heart and—other parts—swelling with affection and _want_ , that burning desire every time he gazes upon the men and women in his bed, the feel of a body that slots so perfectly against his in his arms. It is the best feeling, the heat of another against him, the warmth of a lover's kiss beneath his ear.

He is like all of his clan, passionate and warm and wont to fall in and out of love with the changing of the seasons. The first time he felt the blip-blip-blip of his heart beating in anticipation, he had been only a young boy of 12. The second time was more fruitful. He had been all of 16 and the merchant he'd bedded was as young as he was, beautiful and tender as she attended to her father's wares during the day and playful and eager amongst his sheets at night. They'd left on good relations, and Madara still thinks of Hikari from time to time.

He'd thought Izumi would be the same. The man's dry biting wit is engaging and amusing for all that it pricks at Madara's ego from time to time. And at night, he's eager, though painfully inexperienced. It's enchanting, that mix of confidence and shyness, and Madara feels gratified knowing that, for once, he is the teacher.

That should be all it is. One moon, two, these things tend to burn hot, but burn quickly. Too hot, too intense, and the flame goes out.

Madara licks his lips, a brief moment of hesitation as he looks down at lust-fogged burgundy eyes. A moment is all he can stand, and he swoops back in, almost desperate to taste the salt-sweat skin of the neck, licking up a stripe as the man beneath him arches up into his ministrations. He smiles at the whine at escaps that normally sharp mouth, and he latches onto one perfect, white spot underneath the man's jaw. The single spot he hasn't yet already marked.

Well, Madara's long since outgrown his childhood need to make sure everyone knows exactly what's his and what's not, but this is a special situation. And Izumi simply cannot be allowed to walk around without being covered in Madara's marking. And in the absence of colored ink, Madara will simply have to make do with his mouth as the brush, his saliva as the ink. A round red-purple design sounds good, to match all the other red-purple designs he's painted along that long pale column.

(Maybe, before Madara leaves, he can convince Izumi to allow him to mark him with an Uchiwa. Just a small one.)

(It couldn't hurt.)

The man under him shudders as his mouth sucks and sucks and sucks. That long-fingered fine hand reaches up to curl around Madara's neck, dragging him even closer, dragging him up until his lips are flush against the man's own.

“You've paid enough attention to my neck, Madara. I think other parts need more consideration.”

Madara nips at those red lips and then catches them. He drinks the man in, hungry for a taste of Izumi's sweet, sweet mouth. His tongue brushes up against soft lips and then, when those lips part, sinks into the warm cavern, chasing the flavor of the man sharing his bed, dueling with another eager tongue, twining and flicking and exploring and...

He moans.

He moans and begins to rip at the man's fundoshi, his fingers eagerly mapping out firm well-muscled flesh and curling around a firm organ.

He can't get enough of this. He can't get enough of _him_.

Izumi...

He had thought it would be like Hikari, those brilliant nights of peace and pleasure and happiness that, while he still thinks on it, he can safely say he can live without. Hikari was a wonderful introduction to the grown-up world of pleasure, and he'll always be grateful to her for it. But she is ultimately someone he likes, wants, but does not necessarily need. That time with her will always be thought warmly of, but it is already a distant fading thing, just a few scant years later.

It doesn't compare to this.

Hikari doesn't compare to Izumi.

Madara _needs_ him. Wants him with such a burning want that, that—

He must have hesitated. He must have frozen somewhat in his thoughts, because Izumi pushes himself up, regarding him thoughtfully with those gorgeous red eyes.

Red eyes. An almost perfect color. If only they were a little less dark, a little more closer to the pure red of the sharingan, then Madara could honestly say they would be the most beautiful eyes he's ever seen. But then, Izumi really would be _too_ perfect.

“Don't tell me you're being maudlin again? Not after what we just did? What we're _about_ to do?”

Trust Izumi to catch even the slightest falter from Madara. The man is so observant, one would think _he's_ the one with the sharingan.

Madara chuckles and kisses the scowl off his lover's face. “So cruel, my dear Izumi. Your tongue never lets up, does it? Not even in bed.”

The man harrumphs, shifting in Madara's arms with an almost imperious toss of his dark hair. “You know full well you like my tongue, Uchiha Madara. In every aspect.”

“Just as you secretly like how maudlin I am, perhaps?”

Izumi sniffs, cheekily turning his face away before looking slyly back at Madara, his eyebrows arched. “Perhaps... _if_ you get on with it. Or is your dastardly plan to have me die of want instead? I am here, all alone, bereft of your touch and—”

It's all Madara needs to pounce, pinning that smirking form down on the futon, attacking the neck, the lips, the nose, the eyes, the forehead as if he's allowed for the first time, hungry for a taste of Izumi, any taste of Izumi, that he's allowed to have.

Izumi, Izumi, Izumi.

He wants him. He wants to have him, to sink deeply into him. He wants to keep him.

And that...that is the problem.

It has been five moons since they've began this fling. Five full moon phases as they've tumbled in each other's beds, as Madara has come to know Izumi's body as intimately as he knows his own—more, likely. And each taste, each carnal moment, each soft hug and sweet, sweet kiss and learning about the other man has Madara sinking more and more.

Izumi's tongue, so sharp, but hiding his concern for others, for Madara. Izumi's brain, surprisingly clever, as Madara has come to find when he demonstrates exactly how he managed to smelt the metal needed to fix Izumi's scales. He has a grasp on thermodynamics and metallurgy that astounds Madara, especially given his humble beginnings (must be that merchant's daughter mother he had, they are known to be fairly well educated). The affection that Izumi literally cooks up for him, the warmth of oden and chawanmushi suffusing both Madara's body and Madara's heart. And the ramen too.

He watches Izumi sometimes, as the man works in the kitchen. Admires the rippling arm muscles as the man pounds the grains until they are but silky smooth flour—no easy feat. Stares at the delicacy with which Izumi carves the fish cakes, marvels as he stretches the dough and somehow one large strand becomes two and then becomes four and then eight, 16, 32, 64. It is like magic and wholly mesmerizing, and how Madara wants this man so badly.

He has him, for now. He has Izumi in his arms, in his bed. He gets to taste his mouth, gets to bring him to completion, gets to sink into his warm silky channel and thrust into his straining, delightful body.

It's not enough.

He wants...he wants...

He wants this to last.

It's been five months, nearing to six, but time is quickly running out, his mission is almost at an end, and Madara doesn't know if he can give Izumi up.

He is an Uchiha.

He is an Uchiha, and Uchiha love passionately.

And while most of that love is like quicksilver, just as fleeting and inconsequential as that of most of the world, there is a small handful of loves that are deep and enduring. Deep, enduring, and with the Uchiha's sanity at sake.

Madara knows what happens to those members of his clan that love too deeply and then lose that love. Sibling love, filial love, romantic love, platonic friend love, it matters not. The consequences are still all the same.

He should turn from this. He should turn from Izumi before it's too late. Before he needs Izumi like food, like water, like air. Before he cannot bear to give Izumi up, before he's stuck in the untenable situation of having to leave Izumi behind.

If only he can bring Izumi with him. Even if he won't be allowed to marry the other man, if he could just convince Izumi to come with him and perhaps agree to be a concubine...

“You're thinking again.”

Madara sighs and sits up. He rubs at his arm, unwilling to look Izumi in the eyes. “If I asked...would you come with me? Back to Hi no Kuni.”

The man immediately stiffens and separates from him. And already, Madara is cold, his skin aching for him to stretch out against the other man.

“What brought this on?” Izumi's tone is closed off, wary.

Madara licks his lips. “I really like you. I really like you, and I would like you to stay with me. If you were to come with me, back to the Uchiha clan, then I could install you there. You could...you could work for us. Or you could be mine. As a concubine. Come away with me. And I will take care of you.”

-~&~-

As a concubine?

A slow fury bubbles up in Tobirama's belly. It suffuses him with a terrible warmth, and for a moment, he's afraid he might lose his composure altogether. With strength, he manages to push it down. Down, where it cannot do any harm. Down, where it will not burst out and ruin something he's not quite yet ready to ruin.

Madara means no harm, he knows. He does not know...he cannot possibly know...

It isn't an unreasonable request by any means. Something like this would be coveted by any person in Izumi's situation, if Izumi were actually real. A man of such low rank, a peasant with no rights and virtually no safety or guarantee in life would _jump_ at the chance to be secure in that kind of sitaution. Concubinage where there was already affection and desire, where the man was too poor and too humble to pose any kind of political threat and would really just be ensconced in a life of (relative) safety and luxury...

If Izumi were real, he'd leap at it.

He's not real. He's Tobirama.

He cannot accept this. He will not accept this. He's not even _tempted_ by this. (Lies.)

It's an insult. For one of Tobirama's rank, it's an insult. And more than that, it is dangerous. A jumped up peasant poses no real threat to anyone. A fellow noble? That is altogether different. Madara's wife and other concubines would surely see him as a threat. Their backers and families would plot. He'd be stuck between his own loyalties and duties, torn between what he knows is right, what his heart desires and the love he bears for the man he would call husband (but who wouldn't, couldn't, call him wife).

And worst, he'd be back in the same political mess he ran from. How soon before his identity came out? How soon before he's dragged back in front of his father, before Madara repudiates him for deceiving him, before he's forced into his father's bed?

He can't.

He can't, he can't, he can't.

And he can see that, in Madara's eyes, he already wants this. That he's already warming up to the idea, that despite the fact that it was posed to Tobirama as a question, the other man (secure in his knowledge that he is ranked higher and can get what he wants, that he has power whereas Tobirama does not, that Tobirama couldn't possibly turn him down) is already imagining just such a future.

Madara's never been truly turned down before. Tobirama knows that because Madara's told him, in the stories he sometimes tells of his childhood. He's been indulged, as the beloved clan heir. The only time he's ever lost something he wanted, the only time he's ever been tested is when he lost Tobirama's brother's friendship, when he revealed them at the river...

“No.”


	16. Part II: The Love of Madara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am apparently in a melancholy mood...

**The Love of Madara**  
  
The last moon of Madara's duty, the very last moon he has to stay on this little idyllic island, out in the middle of nowhere isn't what it should be.

He doesn't regret asking Izumi. He doesn't regret trying to go for the chance to keep Izumi in his life, to wake up to this face everyday and not worry about the fast approaching—too fast, too uncontrollable—deadline that is creeping up on him, threatening to rip him away from this life, this person, this _place_ that he has come to treasure.

Because it's almost a year now. Almost a year, and Madara will have to leave. To return to his clan, to his family, to Izuna and his father. He misses them. Misses his little brother's laughs and the practical jokes he would play. Misses the antics of the children—safe, now that the child-hunting practices have been finally put to rest. Misses the trees (hardy deciduals and evergreens, not the endless bamboo in this place), the smell of the land, and _people_.

Kami-sama, he misses them all so much, it almost hurts to think about. How much Izuna would have grown. How will his father have changed? How things will be different and yet, still the same. Still the same old war with the Senju. Still the fear of losing his precious ones in combat.

Maybe...maybe with the turmoil the Senju saw before he left and with the relative peace and security he's lived in here, he can return and resolve that decades long conflict. Reach out to Hashirama. See if there's a way forward for both of them.

He's used to peace and quiet now. Used to the sound of waves against a shoreline, the rustle of wind through long, strong stalks of overgrown grass, used to the fish and the scallops and abalone and used to...used to...

Izumi.

Izumi's cut off their relationship, their little understanding in this past month. Izumi stopped sharing his bed, stopped the little gestures of care and tenderness that Madara had come to crave. And it's his fault, for bringing up that option, for suggesting that he take Izumi back with him.

He doesn't understand, but he can read it nonetheless.

After his question, after his suggestion, Izumi became distant.

He doesn't regret asking.

He doesn't.

If he had kept silent, if he had swallowed the words, he'd still be sharing Izumi's bed, but the end would come nonetheless. A day from now, a week from now, what does it matter? It will not continue. Madara will lose Izumi nonetheless. And so he had grasped at the opportunity to keep the man by his side.

It failed, and he will lose Izumi.

...And the very thought causes him to gasp and clutch at his chest in pain. And he knows that, although he had tried to be careful, the curse of the Uchiha has struck him. He will lose one of his precious people. He will lose one of his precious people and regardless of the fact that it is not to death or insanity or pain, it will drive him to distraction nonetheless. He can already feel his eyes threatening to spin into Sharingan, he can already feel an urge to _take_ Izumi with him, regardless of what the other man wants.

To have Izumi with him, forever.

To have the man who now owns his heart by his side, safe and present and _there_ in the Uchiha compound, where Madara can look in and see that beautiful face, that inspiring smile and eat of the precious products that he's crafted with his own two hands...

It is a dream. And a nightmare.

Because Madara knows...Madara knows that Izumi would hate him for it. He's already said no. He's already broken off their relationship and set Madara aside. What Izumi values is not something that Madara can give, and it is not love to force him into a cage. A luxurious, safe cage, but a cage all the same, where Izumi has his wings clipped and is stifled in the heat of Madara's love.

He can't love like that. He can't do that.

He's obsessive, like the Uchiha tend to be, but he's fallen completely, utterly for this man. So slowly and so surely that he didn't even really it at first. So subtly that he thought it was just a passing fancy, an appreciation for the only other person on this island, a way to run his hands over that taut belly, kiss the long pale column of neck, taste the sweetness of those soft, soft lips. It wasn't until Izumi rejected him, it wasn't until all those were taken away that he realized...

It's not just a physical release. Not just a way to pass his time. The question he had asked, the question that ruined this last month together, that was his heart and soul, and he didn't even realize it.

He loves Izumi. He can't imagine a future without the other man. He can't stand knowing that in just another couple of days, the aged fisherman that he contracted will arrive. He can't stand the knowledge that he'll need to pack up his meager belongings, having fulfilled his mission to the fullest of his duties, and that he'll get on that rickety small boat, travel back across the wide, deep and dark sea until the shore. He can't stand thinking about the journey he'll take, slowly trekking back across the rivers and lakes and noticing as the wet, humid clime of Mizu no Kuni turns into the cool drier air of Hi no Kuni.

He'll wander through those familiar forests (not so familiar now, like a memory of something from long ago) and pass through the gates of his people. They'll welcome him and the promised payments the Daimyo of Mizu had promised them as they arrive later in the month. And he'll watch it all, secure in the knowledge that he fed his clan, that he brought them a prosperity for this time that is hard to reach, even for a noble clan such as the Uchiha. He'll watch it all arrive and know that a familiar red-eyed man will never arrive with them. He'll watch it all and regret that he was not able to bring the person he holds most dear.

He loves Izumi.

He loves him, he loves him, he loves him.

But Izumi has already rejected him, and Madara...?

Madara may be struck by the curse. He'll have to live with his happiness drained from his body and hope that Izuna and the others of the Uchiha clan can shore it up. And maybe...maybe he'll learn that Izumi was caught in one of the battles that took Izumi's family from him. Maybe his heart will be just another unlooked for, unacknowledged casualty in the greed of humanity, that seeks to battle for a small plot of land, for access to a small, nearly insignificant business, that seeks to wipe each other out for the smallest of infractions. The game that nobility play. The game of life and death for everyone else.

And if that day ever comes, then Madara's sanity will die as well. He'll look upon the precious memories he's built up over this year and curse them, curse himself for not forcing Izumi to his side, for not keeping him safe despite the other man's wishes.

He should do it. He should force Izumi to accept him. He should take Izumi back, kidnap him from this place, install him in the compound where nothing bad can happen—where Madara can see him _alive_ and _well_ —even at the cost of Izumi's autonomy and happiness.

He should.

He absolutely should.

But...

He thinks about Izumi saying “no.” Thinks about Izumi distancing himself and refusing to share his bed. He still cooks the most delicious food for Madara. Still dives for the best high quality ingredients and presents a masterpiece to Madara, but he's made himself clear. There is absolutely no ambiguity there at all.

And the thing is...Madara's too in love with Izumi to disregard his wishes.

Izumi has said no, and Madara will respect it. Even if it breaks his heart and sends him down a chain of madness.

He is Uchiha. And Uchiha...they love too fiercely and too deep to knowingly bring such torment to their precious ones.

-~&~-

Tobirama was prepared for the worst. He's already seen a situation where someone he admired and liked and looked up to abused that privilege. He's already been part of a situation where someone dear to him tried to force him into something he didn't want.

It's what led to this entire adventure. It's what brought him here, to this pass, a self-exile from his own clan and his own family. Estranged from his nearest and dearest. Alone on a little island in the middle of nowhere, playing part-time dragon kami and part time cook in an unused lighthouse living space.

He made preparations, moved his father's gifts from the cave he had been storing them in to the house proper in case he needs to make a quick getaway. He's been more wary, more reserved in his affections.

He still slips up and shows those, sometimes. Little things...like an additional bit of scallop topping in Madara's chawanmushi. The biggest and more tender steamed fish reserved for Madara. Adding a bit of quail's egg to Madara's rice.

He can't help it. He's somehow, despite everything, fallen in love with the man.

But he has done his best to scale it all back, to police his own behavior and keep an eye out for anything that may spell force or anything similar to the way he was treated over a year ago, by a man he had called father. A man he had almost been forced into calling husband.

Madara never does anything.

Nothing to warrant his suspicion, nothing justify his fear.

And it's...

Oh, kami, why couldn't he have known Madara better back when he was still known as Senju Tobirama? Why couldn't he have discovered who Madara was, when his Anija had the opportunity to? Why couldn't he have this understanding _back then_?

Because...

Because this man, this insufferable, tune-deaf, clumsy, infuriating man, is _glorious_. And if Madara had approached Tobirama's clan back then (before Tobirama's father went crazy, before Hashirama left on his mission) and asked for Tobirama's hand in marriage as a way to bridge the enmity between their clans...

It wouldn't work. Tobirama knows it. He's too much a realist to indulge in such fantasies.

(But he _wants_ it to. He hasn't wanted much in his life, too used to denying himself and focuisng on other things instead, but he _wants_ now.)

There was never a way for Uchiha Madara and Senju Tobirama to come together. This pretense, this mockery, _this lie_ , is probably the closest they would ever have managed. The hatred between their two clans run too deep. Tobirama's father, even when sane, would never allow his precious son to be given to an Uchiha. And Tajima would, likewise, never give his son permission to take a Senju bride.

They wouldn't even have met on amicable terms, and certainly not long enough to form an attachment.

No, this long adventure, fast coming to an end, is the only way for these two disparate people to come together.

And now it is coming to an end.

Tobirama wants to weep for it.

Madara...

Kami-sama, he's in love with the other man.

He can't accept it. Not concubinage. Not him.

He can't accept it, not the chance of discovery, of being returned to his father, of being forced to play wife to the man who gave him life, of having the safety of his loved ones used against him until he has to capitulate.

He can't accept it.

He can't, he can't, he can't.

But...

He wants to.

Madara...

He loves him. And he'll leave in just a couple of days.

-~&~-

It's the day before he leaves. It's the day before he leaves, and Madara dares more than he has ever had before.

Because it's the last time he'll see Izumi, and he wants to remember him.

Just that one thing.

It's audacious, but...

What has he got to lose?

And Izumi?

Izumi must feel sorry for him because he agrees, hands it over as if it weren't one of the most precious things the other man has.

Izumi's mother's gift. The necklace. A dual sundial and compass.

Madara will cherish it forever.


	17. Part II: The Discovery of a Familiar Face

**The Discovery of a Familiar Face**  
  
He's standing by the cliff-edge, an eye cast out for any sign of the fisherman's boat on the horizon (best to distract himself, best not to think about how he'll be parted from Izumi forever), when it happens. He turns the necklace around in his hand, again and again and again, winding the chain about his throat in a nervous tick that he can't quite control, wincing the fragile, delicate, _thin_ metal chain until it just...breaks.

He's startled.

His hand slips.

The pendant flies out of his desperate grasp, leaping from his hand as if alive, flinging itself into the air and evading his off-balance swoops at it, trying to grab it before it...before it...

He watches with wide, horrified eyes, the dark brown of his iris almost completely overridden by shocked pupil, as the precious item—his last remembrance of Izumi, the only thing he'll get to help him think of the man and the times they shared—tumbles off the cliff and sinks into the dark waters beneath with a plop that should be both inaudible and invisible (given the distance to the waves), but that Madara would later swear he heard, that he saw.

No.

The pendant!

Izumi's mother's pendant!

That Izumi had gifted to him!

That was all of Izumi he was allowed to take away from this place!

And now it was lost, buried underneath the heavy, crushing waves of the sea...

It's as he's shocked still, staring at the murky dark waters beneath, hand still frozen in his outstretched futility that the answer passes through his mind in a flash. And at that moment, without much thought or consideration or even acknowledgement of his past fears, he goes with it.

He dives in after it, heedless of his terror of the ocean and all that it holds within its dark domain.

-~&~-

It's stupid. He knows it's stupid as soon as the water closes in above his head, as the strong currents pull him down-down-down and water enters his lungs (again). He grasps down, straining, trying to feel for any hint of metal (a futile hope, a wretched stupid hope given what he knows of the ocean and ocean currents), and there's nothing. Nothing except coldness and nothingness and a burning in his chest as he's deprived of air, as his lungs beg and plead for him to return.

He tries.

He tries to kick up, to propel himself up and out, but maybe the currents are just too strong. Maybe he's too disappointed in his failure to recover the object, because he doesn't quite make it, and he's dragged further down, pulled further into the cold darkness until black spots dance in front of his blurry eyes, the panic overtakes his brain, and his wild kicking evinces nothing, does nothing for him.

He sinks-sinks-sinks, and his last conscious thought before the darkness takes him is if this will be the end of him. If the ocean will have him after all. If he'll die because of his folly, for the sake of his feelings for Izumi.

It should fill him with terror, but instead...

Instead he thinks he may be okay with it. If his feelings for Izumi are what they are, then he'll be driven mad sooner or later. Better to go in this way, clean and pure in his feelings. Better to go now than make a mess later. He doesn't want to die. Doesn't want to spend the rest of eternity in a watery tomb, but...

If this is his end, then he's okay with that.

For once, he's okay.

The light fades from his eyes as his grasping hands close on a soft ropey piece of seaweed...

-~&~-

...that is not a piece of seaweed at all.

Tobirama loops the Red String of Fate around Madara, using it to help him maneuver him around the deadly rocks at the base of the cliff and carry him back up. He immediately lays him down on the grassy edge and works at the Uchiha's chest. In, out, in, out—trying to get the chest to compress, trying to get the lungs working and the seawater out of Madara.

His rhythm is off, his motions jarring rather than his usual practised ease. He's desperate, fumbling, driven half-crazed by belly-gnawing worry, and when he sees that Madara stays still, he curses and starts all over again.

One. Two.

The first count pushing sharply down (not too sharp, don't break his ribs). The second lifting back up.

“Come on, damn you. _Breathe_.”

One, two. One, two. One...

Agonizing seconds that stretches out to a full minute, and Tobirama only works harder, only presses sharper. His own desperation makes him sloppy, but this isn't normal, can't be normal, because...

Because he cares for Madara now. It isn't like when he first picked up the man, a full year ago. It is _now_ , and he's come to know Madara. Know Madara's body, his heart, even his soul...! He knows him, and he cares for him. Loves him. To have him slip away here, like this, without even having the opportunity to see his own family again...

It's now past the time he would normally have given up. It's now past the time where it would take significant amounts of iryo-ninjutsu to have the chance of saving someone, and the trade-off isn't worth it anymore. And Madara is still sodden and motionless, his lips cold, his chest unmoving, his lungs full of seawater.

Tobirama won't give up. Until Madara's very heart completely stop and all vital signs disappear, he won't give up on him.

(Not him. Not Tobirama's Madara.)

But then, with a great heave, Madara jolts up, coughing up the brackish water, coughing and heaving and gasping, and Tobirama has never been so happy in his life, not even on the day he managed to escape his father's desires.

Thank all the kami in the great wide world.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

He was ready to allow Madara walk out of his life. He was ready to never see Madara again, with the knowledge that Madara would take his place back in his clan, eventually take leadership in the Uchiha, get married, have children and grow old. Dying is not part of that. Dying _here_ and _now_ and _in such a way_ is NOT ALLOWED, Madara!

He gently eases the still-hacking man back down, resting him against his chest. He sends a trickle of iryo-ninjutsu into the man, swiftly repairing the damage to the man's lungs, bringing color back to his lips, easing the spasms that wrench through him.

“You stupid, stupid man,” he murmurs, not taking even a single moment's rest from his work on Madara's lungs. “You are terrified of the ocean and can barely swim...what possessed you to jump in like that?”

It was such a close thing. Had Tobirama not been returning from his early morning routine of scouring the waters for fishermen in distress, he might have missed it altogether, and Madara would be dead. If he had been a few minutes too late, he would never have seen Madara take his tumble. If he had been a few minutes too early, it would have taken him too long for him to retrieve the dragon cloak needed to give him the strength to haul Madara out of the water.

He strokes the sodden hair back from Madara's face, setting the man back down on the grass. He works one last bit of ninjutsu through the man, removing the excess water from his body, and then covers the now dry, resting Uchiha with a warm cloak.

Sadly, he cannot stay. He is due out for a second sweep of the coasts. He doesn't want to leave Madara like this, after the man's had such a harrowing experience, but duty calls, and he would never forgive himself if people died simply because he cannot bear to tear himself away from his beloved's side.

(He would need to do so anyhow. Madara leaves this day.)

“The kami must truly look out for the idiotic. And you will send me to an early death, Madara.”

With that, he tosses on his dragon hide cloak, shifts and runs off the cliff with a leap. If he hurries, he may finish his duties and return to Madara. If he hurries, then maybe he'll have enough time to see Madara leave.

He's in such a hurry that he forgets the Red String still wound up in Madara's fist. The Red String the man had instinctively grabbed ahold of when he thought he would drown.

-~&~-

When he next wakes, Madara just spends moments blinking up at the blue, blue sky. So blue and tranquil, and the sun's so warm on his face that he doesn't want to move. Why move, when he can lay here and enjoy the scenery of the Pure Lands? And how strange it is, that the Pure Lands is so similar to that little island where he lived with Izumi for a year. How strange it is that his vision of perfection, his vision of the most sacred bliss should involve this one little plot of land surrounded by deep treacherous water.

Or...not so strange.

After all, Izumi is here. And Madara has fallen deeply, irrevocably, in love with him.

With a sigh, he shifts—and then curses as a spasm of pain shoots through his leg. He grimaces, pushing himself up and rubbing at the sore muscles. Night cramps. He really hates them. They feel as if his muscles are contracting so much that they must tear his very tissues apart, and he swears they would snap sometime soon and...

Wait. Pain. Why is there pain in the Pure Lands?

He blinks, rolls to his feet with a wince and looks around. The cloak he had been buried under falls to his feet.

He is not in the Pure Lands.

The Pure Lands would not be identical to the island he had been living on. Similar yes, but there's that rock Madara had taken to tossing up and down as he watched a sunset. And there's the remains of that bamboo that Izumi was working on to make a new cup! And there's the flat rock that Izumi likes to clean shellfish on top of because it provides a nice surface to break open the shells!

But if he's not in the Pure Lands, if he's still on the island then...?

He gasps, remembering.

Yes. Yes he was drowning again. Drowning this time because of his own stupidity, not because of a freak storm. And once again, his dragon had saved him, only...only he remembers Izumi. Remembers Izumi working on him (frantic, as he's never seen Izumi before, cursing and insulting as the man is wont to do, but with an edge of deep, gruff affection in his voice), remembers grabbing onto a long string of kelp as he felt like he was going to go under.

He looks down. He lifts his hand.

Oh. This is not kelp.

And he's now so confused because _why_ did he grab onto a celestial treasure as he was drowning, why does he remember being rescued by the dragon, but then Izumi working to save him? And why can he seem to focus on nothing except Izumi's bright, brilliant red eyes?

It makes no sense. Nothing makes sense, and Madara stumbles towards the lighthouse direction, wanders as if in a daze, trips over his own feet as if he's drunk and...

And all the while, he's following the Red String. Following it. Following it to its logical conclusion to the man that he already knows owns him, heart and soul.

He winds it about his hand as he goes, the length never shortening, never lengthening, never changing. Just a continuous strand leading him past the lighthouse, through the forest, past a stream, down a crevasse, across to the other side of the island and finally...!

Finally, he sees a small cave, practically hidden in a wall of mangroves.

He goes into the cave, of course. It leads him there, that Red String of Fate in his hands. It leads him inside the small opening (just the right size for Izumi), and to a small bamboo box, protected by seals repelling water and salt. And he walks right up to it and caresses the smooth outer surface. Opens it.

He sucks in a deep breath of air.

Because inside is something he recognizes.

A sword hilt. And not just any sword hilt, but the Raijin no Ken. That preferred weapon of a certain, missing Senju Tobirama.

He hears something. He closes the box back up, runs back, hides behind one of large alcoves in the back of the cave, peering out as...

As his dragon gracefully slides in. Slides in, shakes himself, sending a fine spray of mist through the air and then tosses his very _skin_ off and...

Izumi.

Izumi, blinking his red eyes, the same red Madara can remember working over him as he lay drowning. A far brighter and paler shade than the one Madara remembers him using for the entirety of the past year. The man carefully folds the cloak of blue-green scales (a dragon cloak, Madara thinks in awe), moves to where the box with the Raijin's hilt is contained and...

And it all clicks together.

The dragon who rescued him again, who blurred into Izumi who tearfully and frantically cursed and begged him to live, who shoved at his chest as if it were the man himself who can't breathe, who was drowning. Izumi, with garnet eyes, but now with the same bright red eyes as Senju Tobirama. And that Senju Tobirama is a master of Suiton and a genius besides! A _missing_ Suiton master who had disappeared from the Senju over a year ago. Disappeared amidst the most vile rumors. Rumors that would seek to choke any rational, sensible man in horrified disgust.

Oh.

Rumors. Rumors of a man more powerful than he trying to make him do something he would not do, could not in good conscience do. Where he left, ran away, while his elder brother was away and unknowing of what had happened back at home and his cousin sent far, far away and unable to intervene.

A young man who ran away on the cusp of adulthood—and Madara had thought he had died, because how can he not, having known only the shinobi no mono lifestyle and missing all the civilian connections, know-off, true self-sufficiency needed to make one's way completely and totally alone—and that was over a year ago, so now that young man is all grown up now. All grown up and a beautiful, enchanting, lovable man.

Oh kami-sama.

He must make a sound, somehow. He must slip up in his shock, in the reverberations of his revelation, because Izumi (no, Tobirama) looks up sharply, darts to exactly where Madara is hiding and...

Red eyes.

Bright, beautiful, beloved red eyes (eyes that Madara's dreamed about) stare into wide black ones.

And Senju Tobirama looks at Uchiha Madara in speechless shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of part II! Onwards to part III, but I might take a week off since work is going crazy. D:


	18. Part III: The Fallout of One Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. I've been suffering from a very bad migraine, starting right at the time I was originally going to update (joy), so could only stand to stare at a screen now without throwing up.

**The Fallout of One Year**  
  
When Senju Tobirama had returned from his chores to see Madara's form gone from the shoreline, the man nowhere to be seen, he had thought the Uchiha had gone back as planned. And even if a part of his heart will always mourn the could-have-beens and would-have-beens, he had been ready to steel himself, shut out the memories and move on.

It's the practical thing to do, after all. Move on, live his life as he must and slowly forget about the loving, gentle, somewhat infuriating and ultimately beautiful man he's given his heart to. The man who still can't sing to save his life, but Tobirama will always remember that one song he plays on the shamisen forever now.

He is certainly not expecting to find him in his secret cave black eyes blown wide in shock. But as surprised as he is to find him here, what comes next is far, far worse.

“You're _Senju Tobirama_?”

Those three words. Simple words, but Tobirama starts at them, moves to run, to toss the cloak back over his back so that he can transform into a dragon. He wants to fly away, run and never return.

Because...

Because if Madara knew that, if he had figured that out, then the island isn't safe anymore. He can't stay here. He can't stay like a sitting duck waiting for his father to come to collect him, waiting for his father's loyalists in the clan to drag him back.

And it aches somewhere deep inside of him, to know that he'll have to go through all this again. Run away, find somewhere new, leave this dear little island and this life he's gotten used, _start anew_ once again...

When does it stop? When can he stop running? What if they keep finding him? Keep finding him, revealing who he really is, try to take him back, force him into his father's bed? Will he have to spend eternity on the run, without a home to call his own, without a place for him to rest and stay?

The possibility stretches out in front of him like a horizon, and he's so _tired_ , even just thinking about it. He's so tempted to just _give up_. Give himself in. Let himself be revealed and taken back. Taken back and...

He swallows.

No. _Nonononononono_. Not an option. He'll run. And if they find him again, he'll end it, one way or another. He won't do it. They can't make him. Maybe Mizu is too obvious now, maybe find another location. Maybe find a different country entirely, fly so far away that they won't even begin to suspect he's there, until—

A hand (an achingly familiar and warmly solid hand) catches his own. It's so unexpected (he remembers those hands running up his back, gently caressing his cheek, resting on his chest and sending a welcoming warmth right through to his heart) that he stills immediately.

“No, I'm sorry. That came out wrong. Please don't go!”

If it had been practiced or smooth, more of the “mission” Madara he had seen prior to this year rather than the clumsy lovable oaf, he would have bolted. Torn his hand out of the other man's and stormed out, never to be seen again. But this, confronted with the Madara he's known and _loved_...that gives him pause.

Madara's holding onto him, an insistent tug on his hand, but it isn't altogether confining. And yes, it occurs to him that there may be dastardly reasons for Madara's awareness of his identity, of his clinging onto him. He knows that their clans are at war, that as the second son, as...his father's desired interest...he would fetch a very high price, for either the peace that Madara and his Anija had dreamed up since they were young boys or for using him in the war.

He swallows. What would his father do, to ensure his safe concern? He had already been willing to almost break the clan to force Tobirama to his bed. What might he do to preserve Tobirama's life if the Uchiha have him?

It can't be allowed. It can't. He's run away, but he won't be the cause of such danger, such strife for his loved ones.

(He won't admit it, but his heart includes Madara in that number.)

But...Madara's voice, his manner, even his hand upon Tobirama's...

It's the man he loves, not the terror of the battlefield.

He's quivering with fear, quivering with frustration and anger and fatigue, but that bumbling, sometimes idiotic, sometimes lovable voice stops him, and he looks back, red eyes trained on black.

“You have the space of five breaths.”

-~&~-

Five breaths.

It's not a lot of time, but for Madara it's doable.

Because even through the confusion whirling in his brain, he instinctively knows that if Izu- _Tobirama_ were to leave now, then he'll never see him again. He'll never see the long graceful sinuous form when he's a dragon, never see those rich red eyes staring lovingly into his own, never feel that lithe form in his arms. If it's not doable, then Madara would have lost Tobirama, and he doesn't want that. That's not acceptable.

(He would follow him to the ends of the earth, but the man can transform into a dragon. He can go where Madara cannot.)

A chance is all he's asking for. Just a chance to resolve the confusion, explain himself, convince his Izumi, his...Tobirama...to _stay_.

“What you said, all those moons ago, about the man who tried to make you do something you didn't want to do, and you fled...that was your father, wasn't it?”

From the way the already stiff muscles in that hand tightened even further, Madara can tell that he's correct.

“If you even think about reporting this back to your clan, so that you can use me to broker the peace you and Anija have always wanted, then—”

Madara sucks in a breath, his heart suddenly rabbiting in his chest. “No!” He cries. He takes that stiff, resisting hand (so unlikely their normal suppleness, so unlike their normal tenderness), and he rubs them, almost beseeching.

“No,” he repeats, more softly. “I could never.”

Red eyes—and he still thinks they're beautiful, even now—bore into him. “I won't be a liability for my clan either. I won't be used to bring them to their knees. So you can forget about taking me hostage. I will fight you to the death if you try to use me in that way.”

Madara swallows, nearly undone by the accusations. He drops the hand, dropping all pretense of stopping Tobirama. “What have I done,” he whispers, “that you would suspect me of that? What have I done to earn such distrust? Tell me, and I will correct it. I have no such vile intentions. Even though our clans are at war, I wouldn't endanger you to win against them.”

He breathes, finding it difficult to speak for a moment. “Fight to the death? No, you wouldn't need to do that. If you wish to leave, I won't stop you. I won't use you. Just...hear me out.”

Just hear him out. Give him a real chance.

That's all he's asking.

-~&~-

It's hard to trust. It's hard to stay still instead of fighting, instead of fleeing.

But Madara let go of his hand. But Madara speaks as the Madara he's come to known. But Madara is...Madara is...

He wears his heart in his eyes, and never would Tobirama have thought this man capable of such feeling if he didn't already experience it firsthand. A year of tenderness, of enduring his sharp tongue, of bad singing and exquisite shamisen playing, of looking like Tobirama's given him the best gift in the world when he sets some oden in front of him.

A simple man, really. And he never thought he could love such a man, but...

Madara is lovable. Madara is so very, very lovable.

“What do you want from me, then?” He asks in lieu of answering.

-~&~-

What does he want?

Madara wants those nights in his bed, ensconced with his lovely man and his brilliant, bright red eyes back. He wants to go back to that little cabin next to the lighthouse and feel the soft silken slide of chawanmushi down his throat. He wants to be warmed by first the flavorful and lightly salty clean broth of the oden, and then by a slender body within his arms, strong legs around his hips. He wants to savor those pink lips, battle against that tongue, swallow the gasps as he slides into the beautiful man under him. He wants to lick the salt-sweat off that long neck, wants to caress the cheeks with his palm, wants to spend the rest of his life with Izumi nestled against him.

Except...Izumi is really Tobirama. And Tobirama is threatening to leave. Tobirama can't trust him, because of his clan and his background. Tobirama is an ancestral enemy.

The answer spills forth ahead of him, and Madara nearly spends precious moments gaping at the simplicity of it all.

There it is. An answer to satisfy everything.

“I want to eat your cooking for the rest of my life, and I want you to teach me so that I can return that favor. I desire you in my bed, but I desire you in all ways just as much. I want you by my side, joined together in mutual love, watching each other's backs.”

“That is what I want from you.”

-~&~-

Tobirama sucks in a breath.

He's surprised, despite himself. Surprised, and conflicted.

Another proposal. Another offer for him, and he can't help but think to his father, think to his father try to force him to him, trying to force _that_ on him.

But hadn't he already feared that from Madara as well? And hadn't Madara proven himself? He'd accepted Tobirama's rejection for that past month. He'd backed off and not tried to force his hand. He'd...

He'd been respectful of Tobirama, of his wishes. And even now, he's carefully standing apart, not reaching out to retake Tobirama's hand when he could so easily...!

“We can't marry, Madara,” he says sadly. “I can't betray my clan in that way. I know I ran from them, but this is a step further. A step that I just can't take. I'm sorry.”

And he moves to leave. Turns his back, because he knows that it is safe, that Madara won't abuse his trust of him. That he won't be stopped and caged and imprisoned.

That Madara can be trusted.

-~&~-

He has to say something. Anything, to prevent Tobirama from leaving.

He can't allow it. Can't allow the other man to leave. Can't let him go...

Well, not like this. If Tobirama really wants it, if he really is determined, then Madara won't impose his will on him.

(It's at times like these that he despairs of being an Uchiha, of feeling love so deep and unwilling to compromise, that he would destroy himself before he saw his loved one hurt.)

“You spoke of fearing that I would trade you for peace, Senju Tobirama. But if you marry me, if we join in such a way, then we can _pave_ the road for peace without the use of force or battles. You, myself, your brother and even mine once you are a part of my family...we will _all_ clamor for it.”

But that white head of hair only shakes as Tobirama moves with long strides away from him. “My father would never accept it, especially since he was trying to marry me himself. He would doom the entire clan at the slight against him.”

Ah.

Yes.

Madara had forgotten. Tobirama could not know of the goings on back home, could not know of what had befallen his clan, that it was in the throes of civil strife when Madara had first left for his mission.

“Your father may not be in control anymore. Your _brother_ would have no such compunctions against it, and I think he would be very glad to have you in an actual loving relationship, where you are treasured and respected.”

-~&~-

The words stop Tobirama's feet like nothing else could. He stands there for a long moment, not knowing what to think, what to feel, what to _believe_.

His father...not in power anymore? His brother...returned and safe and possibly in charge of the clan?!

He whirls around, facing the (now calm) Uchiha.

“What happened to my clan?!”

And he gets a sigh in response. A sigh, and, “let's discuss this back at the lighthouse. I think I have much to tell you of, now that I know of your interest in such subjects. While my information is not the most up-to-date anymore, there is still much to be acquainted with.”

But he stands still. He needs one last thing before he leaves with this man, before he returns back to that little house they spent a full year together.

“You will tell me the truth, and you won't condition it upon my accepting your proposal?”

A snort.

“Of course I will. And no, you don't need to accept my proposal. I will tell you regardless, and let you make the choice after.”

And he nods.

That is all he needs.


	19. Part III: The Choice That They Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A somewhat slower chapter.

**The Choice That They Made**  
  
How does one handle such information? How does Madara expect him to handle such information?

Tobirama is so shaken, that he finds he has to get up and pace around the room, like some mighty beast like one of those mythical tigers he's heard about from across the sea, locked up tightly into a cage and unable to roam as such a free-spirited animal must.

He's been a dragon, can change his shape into one even now. He couln't bear the thought of being locked up, of being denied his freedom. He almost was. If he hadn't run off when his father lost his mind, if he'd stayed...Ah, but that's the rub, isn't it? One ever knows what has happened, but figuring out the future is ever perilous. And now, with what he knows, did he make the right choice?

His brother had returned a scant few days since his flight. His cousin the very day after. Together, they mustered enough support to tear the clan apart in their outrage for what Senju Butsuma had tried to force him into. Partially mourning for a brother believed dead when not a whisper of information surfaced. Partially a purging of what they believed to be the corrupt elements of the clan—his father's loyalists, and Tobirama _still_ doesn't know what he feels about them, can't figure out if he should feel elated that his father has such loyalty or dismayed that that very loyalty would allow them to force him into such a situation to begin with.

Is it _wrong_ of him to feel so torn about it all? Neither truly celebrating the newly bitter divisions within his birth clan nor lamenting that the ones who did this to him, the ones who tried to force him into such heinous shackles should now suffer for the temerity of having treated him thus?

He's not an all-knowing, gracious wiseman. Even with the wisdom bestowed upon him by the dragon skin, he can't help the torn _satisfaction_ that he feels.

About that subject matter, of course. And it's a small part of him.

The much bigger part, the part that has more sway over him is horrified.

His brother. His precious dear Anija and his Ane-ue are embroiled in civil war against his father!

What danger they must be in...! And what if they, what if they...?

Madara must see the panic on his face because the Uchiha immediately places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it in support. “They are alive, last I saw before I left. Your brother and that fierce cousin of yours,” he clarifies. “They are alive and were gaining, ever so slightly.”

It eases some of the tightness in his chest, though not all. Battles turn on a combination of skill, desire and luck. And while he does not doubt his Anija or Ane-ue's resolve in the former two, the last one is known for being a fickle master indeed.

He swallows.

And it certainly doesn't help that his father is also just as skilled, with just as much desire.

If he had stayed, if he hadn't ran away, leaving Hashirama and Touka with such a mess back home, if he hadn't been such a _blighted_ coward...

Madara frowns. “You're blaming yourself, I can tell. Are you wondering what would have happened if you didn't leave?”

Tobirama nods. “It's just that Anija...and Touka. If I had known they wouldn't be too delayed, if I had just _waited_ the few days it would've taken for them to return...”

Strong arms begin to twine around his shoulders, stopping just short of wrapping around him. “May I?” a deep voice asks, and he hesitates for one moment, thinking about it.

He's already rejected the other man, denied him entry into his bed when he feared the consequences of being found and forcefully brought back to Hi no Kuni. And while that is no longer an outcome to be dreaded, it stands that he _still_ hasn't retracted his rejection.

Is it right of him to lead Madara on like this? Allow him to offer comfort when Tobirama still isn't sure whether he'll accept the other man? Is it right of him to accept those arms around him, knowing that Madara still obviously wants him?

“No strings attached,” Madara murmurs, as if reading his mind. “I just want to provide some strength to you right now, that is all.”

Ah, kami-sama. How is it that Madara, normally so clumsy with his hands and his mouth, should choose _now_ to turn into eloquence? The one area where Tobirama is weak, where he does not truly know his way, Madara seems to transform into a savant.

With a sigh, Tobirama relaxes against Madara's loose embrace, and he luxuriates in the warm tightening of the arms around him. They stay like that for a little while, Madara silently supporting Tobirama, Tobirama deep in thought.

Finally, “I can't help but feel that I've caused this entire mess. I worry for them, Hashirama and Touka and the rest who didn't throw me over to be a sacrifice to my father's lust. This civil war...”

His voice chokes, and he shakes for a moment, a brief moment, imagining all that could go wrong. A moment's inattention is all it would take to bring his Anija down. And who better to take advantage of Anija's weaknesses than the very man who trained him? And Touka, for all that she is strong, she is not stronger than his father.

And while Butsuma might hold back for the only son he has left, he would have fewer compunctions about killing his niece. Such is the hierarchy of familial bonds.

If they fall...if either of them fall...

“I know this is probably good news for your clan, given that we are hereditary enemies, but I worry for them. I love them. And if only I hadn't left, if only I hadn't run away—”

-~&~-

It hurts, seeing the clever, strong man he's fallen in love with doubt himself so much.

Madara doesn't think he's ever seen Izumi so out of sorts, Izumi thinking so poorly of his own judgment.

But Izumi is a mask, isn't he? Tobirama's the truth underneath, and Tobirama is a refugee from an unbearable situation, Tobirama's decision set things in motion that endangered the people the Senju most held dear.

Except...

Except it's not any real sort of decision, is it? The decision between saving one's own spirit and soul and dooming it. The decision of choosing the best outcome given the information. There really is no better choice that Tobirama could have made, given what he knew, but Madara knows well that the mind does not always cooperate with logic.

It is a doubting, difficult taskmaster.

He licks his lips, thinking deeply. Rarely is Madara given to thinking his thoughts fully out before speaking, but he weighs them on his tongue here, tastes them in his mouth and savors how they feel.

“I don't think you made the wrong choice, Tobirama,” he says quietly. “Hashirama and that cousin of yours are very strong. While they have weaknesses individually, together, they are a formidable force. You _know_ this. Even I, having only seen them during the sparse times both faced my team on a field, can see this clearly. Not quite up to the caliber that you and Hashirama make on the battlefield, if what Izuna tells me is correct, but very deadly nonetheless.”

He forestalls the argument he sees coming. “If Hashirama had taken any longer to return, you would have been caught in the trap, completely unable to escape. Do you think that he would trade your safety for _anything_?”

The Senju shift uncomfortably. “He should not have to. I owe him my obedience—”

“Perhaps, but he would be distraught to return and find you forced to your father's bed. No, no...” He can see Tobirama turning from him, “don't shut me out. You know it's true. That's the very last thing that Hashirama would want to see, and it would devastate him to know that you could have been safe and away but chose to remain and submit yourself to violation for his sake.”

Tobirama shudders delicately in his arms, and Madara tightens his hold minutely, offering warmth where he can.

“Hashirama loves you. How can he not? You're his dearest little brother, the only one still alive. I speak as another elder brother who would tear the world to shreds if anything ever happened to Izuna. If I had returned to find him facing these types of circumstances, if I return to find him in such terrible straits, then I would rue the day I instilled such loyalty in him that he chose to stay, instead of taking himself to safety.”

He pretends not to see the single tear sliding down Tobirama's face and only secures him more fully in his arms. (Would that he could keep him there forever.)

“Please believe me, Tobirama. As an older brother, as someone who loves his otouto with every fiber of my being, it would _destroy_ me to find that such ill tidings befell Izuna, and that I was to blame for him not removing himself from the danger. I would much rather return to find him gone, think him dead, raise hell in his name and rediscover him safe and sound. It is _far_ preferable.”

-~&~-

Far preferable, eh?

Tobirama's not sure he's fully convinced, but...

Anija. Touka.

 _I'm sorry_.

But what if Madara's right? If he had stayed, if...

“And even though they returned shortly after,” the Uchiha wrapped around him continues, “wouldn't they still have been too late to affect much? Didn't you say that your father had ordered you to present yourself to him that very night that you fled?”

It's this last that stalls Tobirama's brain, and he frantically tries to make it work, to think through it.

What had happened back then? On that night that he fled, what had really occurred? It had been so long, and the events so distasteful, that Tobirama had deliberately forgotten it. Let it turn into a fuzzy, blurry blob in his mind.

Is it possible that Madara's right? That no matter what, there really was no hope for him if he stayed?

He doesn't want to believe that. Doesn't want to believe that there was no choice for him to safely stay with his clan, doesn't want to believe that absolutely _nothing_ he did would have salvaged the situation, that it was lost from the start.

But...

Isn't Madara _right_?

He swallows again and burrows into that comforting hug, savoring the strength of the man holding him.

“I don't know,” he admits. “That night...I try not to think about it. I try not to...”

To think about the stillness of his father as he struck him down. To think about familiar faces (trusted faces) chasing him through the compound, hounding his footsteps and trying to catch him to bring him back to his father. To think about abandoning every single person he holds dear, of leaving Megumi and Haya and Natsuki and Haru behind, potentially to have his father take out his wrath on their vulnerable skins.

He did that. He's the one who left, who saved himself at the expense of everyone else.

But...

But...

“They probably despise me for leaving them so cowardly,” he murmurs and leans against Madara with a sigh. “They probably despise me for choosing myself over them.”

The chest against him hums, and he sinks into the comforting vibration. “I doubt it. If they love you, and I have no doubt that they do, from what Hashirama used to ramble before we were discovered...”

A memory sparks.

“Before _I_ discovered the two of you, you mean,” he corrects bitterly.

It's him screwing things up. Why is it always him?

“It was you, but recall that Izuna did the same thing. If you had not, then I do not think you could count your brother among the living right now, not if I know my father and brother.”

Ah yes. Tobirama recalls that. Each clan had discovered the two and each sides canceled the other one out.

“Just like if Izuna had not, then you likely would not have lived to now.” He turns to stare straight into those gentle black eyes.

He'd never thought them gentle before. Not when he saw them across a battlefield. But now...

“In hindsight, I am very glad that you survived, Uchiha Madara. You are truly a generous person, and I am honored to be given the chance to know you.”

-~&~-

It's on the tip of his tongue.

_I still want you. I still love you. Please take me back. I'll do anything to keep you with me._

But Madara swallows the words.

Tobirama has made his decision, and if he chooses to take them back, then Madara will wait for _him_ to make that choice without any pushing on his part.

His beautiful Senju has had enough of other people trying to control his actions. Madara won't be another person on that list.

He's better than that. He'll be better than that. Not like the man's father. Not like Senju Butsuma.

“You can show that appreciation by accepting that you made the best choice,” he says instead. “If you had never run away, if you hadn't done what you did, then you would have been your father's prisoner. And I...I would never have seen you, enjoyed my time with you, really come to _know_ you.”

He licks his lips. “I, too, am honored to have the chance to know someone I admire as much as I admire you, even before I knew you were Senju Tobirama and not a defenseless civilian. You saved my life from the sea, in your dragon form, not once but twice. And you kept me company for a full year, cooked the most amazing food I've eaten and I—”

No. He won't say it. Let Tobirama come to him, if he wants. He will not pressure the other man.

“I am glad, to have had you there. Perhaps it's selfish of me, but...”

But Madara could never wish there to have been any other circumstance, for it brought Tobirama into his life, however briefly.


	20. Part III: The First Steps of Senju Tobirama

**The First Steps of Senju Tobirama**  
  
Tobirama sips on the tea he made himself and Madara and tries to sort out his thoughts, tries to figure out just what it is he wants to do, Madara waiting patiently for him to herd his thoughts into order.

It wars in him. It struggles for supremacy. Madara's information arouses in him a desperate need to see his family again. To see Anija and Ane-ue and Megumi and Natsuki and Haya and Haru and even Elder Noritaka and, and...!

He wants to see his family again. He _needs_ to see his family again.

Are they alive? What retribution was wrought upon Elder Noritaka for his hand in Tobirama's escape? Were any of his friends punished by proxy? Even his father...

He's not sure what he hopes for there. He's not sure what he wants there. His emotions are a tangled ball of string, and he can't begin to sort it out, but, is his father...is Butsuma...

Is Butsuma still alive?

And that wars in him. His need, his climbing desperation to see them all again and know that the people he cares about are safe and well (perhaps barring his father, perhaps not), and the need to keep hidden, to keep from showing his face in Hi no Kuni lest he be recognized and forced back.

It's stupid, he knows. With Madara offering to keep his secret and offering him shelter to boot, sanctuary, if anything should go wrong and Tobirama is threatened, then there can be no better time for him to return and make his own observations. Madara's willing to back him up, so _what is Tobirama so afraid of_?

He loves his Anija. He loves his Ane-ue. He's inordinately fond of all the children he grew up with in the clan and cousins and even unrelated clan members, and he even longs to sort out the mess of what he feels in relation to his father. If he were to return and resolve this, if he could _know_ , with certainly, that the civil war is settled, that Anija and Ane-ue won, but that father is at peace at well, then, then...!

But what if Anija and Ane-ue lost? As much as he doesn't want to contemplate the possibility, as much as he does not want to even _think_ about it, it is very, very possible. Anija and Ane-ue are young, but his father has decades of experience on his side. And Anija and Ane-ue just returned from their missions when this all started. They would have been road-weary, both physically and mentally.

He shudders at the thought of what he imagines they would have thought, of what they would have felt. To have return from their mission, exhausted but likely victorious, and then to be met with the shambles that the clan had become in so short a time...it must have been devastating. Horror enough to force their hand and wage war, but would not that same sentiment have drained their energy? The very knowledge that kin is pitted against kin, wouldn't it have sapped some of their heart and vitality?

Battles are won on such, he knows. Good placement of warriors, resources, morale and training.

If Anija, in particular, was lacking in one, then his effectiveness drops tremendously. Hashirama is a man who wears his full heart and displays it for all the world. He becomes so much stronger if what he's doing has his whole heart, becomes so much stronger if it does not weigh upon him.

This must weigh on him. This must grieve him to his very bones. And might not Tobirama's father take advantage of that? Might not their father set aside his own heart, as he has done so from the very beginning of this charade, to steal victory?

If that's the case...then Tobirama would rather not know, would rather not return.

A strong pale hand (Madara's hand) rests against his wrist and squeezes his palm in assurance. “I don't know what is going through your head, but I will give you my assurance again that I won't let you be taken against your will. If you should wish to return, if you should wish to see who won in your clan's civil war or, if it's still ongoing, wish to join, then I shall do everything possible to keep you out of Butsuma's hands.”

Tobirama shivers.

And that's the other problem, isn't it? Knowing Madara's attraction to him, knowing that he clearly still wants to marry Tobirama...

What a terrible, _selfish_ person he must be to use the man's affections in this way.

He pulls his wrist away. “I thank you, but you have not considered the risk to your own clan. If father has sway and victory, then this would only enflame the war between our two clans even more. Although your own clan likely has higher numbers now, any portion of my clan can still fight viciously and cost you much of your own. And all for what?”

Madara chuckles. “Is that what you're concerned about, my lovely dragon? Do not worry yourself about my clan. We—”

But that's the thing isn't it? How can he not?

How can Tobirama not be aware of just what it is he himself is doing, by accepting this man's, this sweet, caring, beautiful man's, protection, when he knows that, when he thinks that...

“I do not know,” he says carefully, “if I can accept your proposal. And I do not know if I want to be known as a user of other people's affections. I do not know if I want to think about myself like that.”

-~&~-

The words give Madara pause, though perhaps not in the way that the lovely Senju thought it would.

He's not concerned about being used with a cold heart, of course. (He's never heard of anything so ridiculous.) _He_ made the offer, knowing full well that Tobirama may never wish to be with him again, that what they had is over. He made it with that information, because _it isn't the point_.

But what gives him pause is the corrollary to that. _He_ does not mean it in that way, but would not his offer put pressure against his lovely Senju and compel him to accept his suit? The very thought of it makes him ill, makes him want to retch.

He doesn't want to compel Tobirama. Not at all. And, honestly, what is the point of it? He loves Tobirama. He wants him happy. If Tobirama doesn't want to be with him, but he forced him to accept by leveraging his wholly human need to know that his family is safe and to see them again, then his goals are _still not accomplished_.

There will be some pressure regardless, he knows. Such is the human mind. But he will do his best to assuage it. Because the reason that Tobirama's fears, that Tobirama's concerns about _Madara's_ clan inconveniencing themselves is ridiculous is that—

“You know that we would be at war anyways. It is not so great a burden, no, not even that, it is NO additional burden on my clan. Indeed, they would see this as a boon. To have the coveted second of your clan under our protection...what advantages does that afford us, should your father win?”

He can see Tobirama open his mouth, instinctively still moving to defend that man who has the gall to call himself his father, but he reminds him, “and that is only in the case that your father is the victor. Where he will have spilled your brother's and your cousin's blood. Should we not use all our tools to bring him down? A mad tyrant who goes against the laws of nature and the kami itself, our ancestral enemy besides, we are virtually _guaranteed_ to pit ourselves against him, with even more ferocity than before. You know this. It is simply the fear in you that speaks otherwise.”

They are both military leaders and well-versed with the battlefield and politics. Despite Tobirama's filial duty (even now, such a thing clearly has hold on the Senju), he can see the reluctant understanding in those gorgeous red eyes.

“And if your brother is the victor, then our services won't even be needed. You can go home. Go reunite with your loved ones. And having known you now, knowing that Senju Butsuma will have no more control over the Senju clan, and that it will instead be headed by both Hashirama and yourself, I think...”

He swallows, weighing the words in his mouth.

Izuna would be very upset, he knows. Izuna will likely not want to talk to him for a while. But he knows better now, and Izuna's fears about _this_ particular Senju are just plain wrong.

“I think that, once my father steps down, then we will have peace between our clans.”

-~&~-

Even a year ago, Tobirama's first feeling would have been disbelief; his second, disdain. There can exist no peace between people so dissimilar, between clans that lack any sort of value in common. The hide-bound, inflexible Uchiha cannot work alongside the more fluid thoughts and thousand hand approaches of the Senju, even removing the centuries long conflict between them. Peace has always been a foolish dream. Nice in thought, but unachievable in practice.

Now, however, now he knows that Madara is quite dissimilar to him—but, not in a bad way. Far more flexible than he thought, with enough burning Uchiha warmth that he just wants to snuggle up to him and sink deep into sleep next to his heat.

Suiton and Katon, opposite natures, and with far more harmony that he could ever have realized.

He _knows_ what Madara is like now, to banter with, to tease, to _sleep_ with, in both senses of the word. Although that last should, perhaps, not be the basis of peace...

Wait.

His mind stops, trippping over itself, goes back over that declaration.

Why couldn't it be the basis of peace? If Anija is the victor, and with Madara willing to accept the hand that Tobirama _knows_ his elder brother is just itching to extend, wouldn't marriage solidify the trust even further? Prove to _Izuna_ and the rest of the Izuna, that they are in earnest and that this is no trap?

Tobirama is no fool. It's one of his private reservations against his brother's dream, the knowledge that the Uchiha would likely not trust them to keep to any peace, just as his clan is unlikely to trust the Uchiha in return. But if the clans were to combine and become allied through marriage, if that that marriage proves true and loyal and brings political benefits _as it must_...!

His mind spins at the possibilities.

Senju and Uchiha, the two strongest in Hi no Kuni. Together, they have enough power to form a power base. That village he's spied his brother planning may become reality! And with a village, they will be enough such as not to be complete pawns of the Daimyo. They will be a power in their own right, moreso than they are separately.

Multiple clans, working in harmony, complementing each other, moving as one. It is as Anija has said in the past. A handful of sticks, no matter the sturdiness, can be broken separately. Together, it is difficult for anyone to snap them.

And while Tobirama has always conceided that point, he could never see _how_ that unity, that togetherness could be accomplished. But now it pans out in front of him, spilling forth from his imagination like color off a brush, soaking through the fibers of rice paper, branching off like the shoots of a new tree.

He licks his lips, considers his options, considers what he wants.

It's still difficult.

It's still difficult to move himself past his previous resolve, still difficult to force him off of that previous determination. But all the issues he had with it, all his fears...they're all gone now, aren't they?

He won't be sold off or made a prisoner. The only leverage he'll potentially be used as is leverage against his father...and truth be told, he's not truly averse to that, given the situation. And it would be the basis of his brother's peace.

What more can he want?

He looks over at Madara's steadfast eyes, at the way he's carefully holding that hand Tobirama had shrugged off earlier close by, giving Tobirama the opportunity to reach out again, _if he so choose_ , but not forcing it. He thinks back to the nights he spent in the man's arms, thinks back to how he nearly lost Madara _again_ when the man so stupidly dove right off a cliff because he dropped Tobirama's keepsake.

Honestly, why is the man so senseless at times? He can't swim worth anything. And while his keepsake is important, it's not near the worth of Madara's life. The very thought of not having this man's quirky smile next to him is a punch in the gut, an enemy's katon to the face, a kunai in the heart. The very thought of not waking up to a day knowing that his ridiculous Uchiha is...

Is...

He swallows.

Ah, that's it, isn't it?

What more he can want.

Two hearts twining and becoming one. Passion and all the things that the new values say he should not crave (that it is not filial to put those as important), but the very old values, the ones he remembers reading out and marveling at in books and old fables and tales, _they_ say differently.

The two versions of the Legend of Urashimako.

One, with a grounding of filial duty. The later one. The earlier, with a different grounding.

Love.

He wants love. He wants to marry for love, and to choose his partner knowing that there are genuine feelings involved, and that he would gladly die for him. He wants to be next to someone he respects and cherishes and, and, and...

And, kami-sama, he's an idiot, isn't he?

Because he already has it.

He already can't imagine waking up without knowing that Madara is just in the next room. He already can't imagine a world where Madara's really in it, where Madara isn't part of _his_ world.

And that means...that means...

“I love you.”


	21. Part III: The Story that Never Dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End.

**The Story that Never Dies**  
  
There's a story that's told in Hi no Kuni. A fairytale that starts out dark and terrible and hurtful, but doesn't end that way. A tale of how a war is resolved, how a terrible sickness is cured, of how two clans bury the swords they once used to slice each other to bits and wash off the blood from their armor. Of how the rot from all the ground soaked into the earth slowly melts away until all there is left is verdant, fertile green.

-~&~-

It's not all easy.

They return to sickness—a bout of cholera, that claimed the greatly admired Tajima. And for that reason, they delay the marriage so as not to taint the promise of the future with the pollution of the dead.

That, at least, is the official version. In truth, Madara's clan is is not sure what to make of this man/dragon/divine creature, and Izuna in particular is uneasy about his rival playing such a prominent role in his brother's life. And the Elders, seeing Heir Izuna's reservations, put up a stiff resistance, doing everything they can to negotiate marriage offers with other eligible matches.

“It's all politics,” Madara mutters in private and at leisure to his to-be bride. He strokes back the feathery white hair—and how amazingly beautiful his Tobirama is, in his true appearance!—and lays a small kiss against fine cheekbones. “They just want me to marry their own daughters and produce an heir so that they'll secure their own power. That's all it is.”

Tobirama chuckles, arching knowingly against him. His eyes are satisfied when he feels the slight fluctuation in chakra at the movement, at the way black eyes dart quickly up and down his body in appreciation. “That,” he murmurs, “and I can hardly think they would be happy to have me. I am Senju after all...and was one of the most promising of the Senju.”

Madara swoops in, kissing him deeply, before separating with a gasp and—

“You still are. You always will be. _My_ lovely Senju. I swear I will help you reunite with your brother as soon as your claim with us is secure. And together, we will set this conflict to rest...”

Ah, but Madara is not altogether correct. Politics, yes, Tobirama concedes, but so much more than that. Because at the heart of it all, at the root of it, the very foundation for which the blighted old Elders of this clan base their objections upon is the very real concern of younger brother for his beloved older brother. It is the loving spirit that allows Izuna to put himself into danger each time to protect his brother, the drive that sets the younger Uchiha against Tobirama on the battlefield.

And that he can _understand_ in the same way his lover can apparently empathize with his own brother so much...because it is the very same love and respect he holds for Hashirama.

For his brother, he could die. For his brother's sake, he's certainly turned away unsuitable lovers and people who would have just been wrong and bad for him. He can certainly respect Izuna's tendency to do the same. After all, have there not been thoughts of intrigue, of honeypot missions and seductions that crossed his mind with the last kunoichi that Hashirama met who was not Mito? (And Tobirama is honest. He very well knows just how lucky his idiot brother is to have met someone like Mito and have had the opportunity to be engaged to her.) How can Tobirama begrudge Izuna this need to protect his idiot older brother when Tobirama has also done the same in the past?

And especially Izuna, with such a history between them.

Luckily, here, Tobirama proves wise and keenly observant. It's a simple matter of asking to meet with Izuna in secret, setting seals to keep the meeting between them private, setting a kunai into the Uchiha's hands and then asking him to kill him if he must to prove his loyalty.

“You want me to do _what_?”

At any other time, Tobirama would have been keenly amused at just how easy it proved to be to stun Izuna senseless (something he's been trying for so long on the battlefield). But now is not the time to gloat. Any shinobi no mono knows that, when handed an advantage like that, go on the offensive.

“Kill me. I would die for him.”

And when Izuna still hesitates in shock, Tobirama takes the hand that holds the blade, holds it to his own neck and presses hard enough to draw a single drop of blood.

“Do it, or drop this matter forever. I mean it when I say I love him, and I would die for him.”

Izuna yanks his hand back as if burned—and a random, almost drunk part of Tobirama's brain is amused at the thought of an Uchiha being hurt by fire!—and yelps, “you're mad!”

Tobirama shakes his head. “Not mad. Simply determined. He has become one of my precious people, and I think you and I both know how much I defend those that are mine.”

Izuna gnaws on his lip and narrows his eyes, frowning. “You say that, but you won't give up your clan's secrets. You won't _prove_ yourself one of us, that your new loyalties are with us.”

A tough charge, but not one that Tobirama isn't already prepared for.

“Would you be, in my situation?” He asks simply. “I love Madara, and my loyalty is to him, but it is also with my clan. I see no reason for there to be conflict.”

“ _No reason_?! We are at war! Of course there is reason! Your loyalties, your love is divided!”

“Not for long. With me by Madara's side, with my brother struggling against my father...couldn't we finally have that peace our brothers dreamed of for so long? They are silly idealists, I know, but I never trusted you because _of course_ you would think about your clan first and mine would suffer. And I know you thought the same.”

Izuna nods. “That's right! That's exactly why this won't work!”

Tobirama smiles then, a rare tilt curving his lips as he swoops in with a coup de grace, “but our families and clans would be joined, wouldn't they, if I am to be Madara's wife? My loyalties, my inclinations, my machinations...your clan would be included _among_ them, if you become my family. With our futures so entertwined, wouldn't I, wouldn't Hashirama be inclined to do the best for _both_ clans?”

Resistance folds easily after that. The Elders, having voiced their opposition only with the knowledge that Heir Izuna stands behind them, back down, for what is more frightening than clan head united with clan heir, both with one purpose, one resolve in mind?

-~&~-

Sending out missives to meet the Senju is perhaps harder.

Everyday, Tobirama frets about arranging a meeting with his brother. Everyday, he worries that his father will find him, that any letter sends to Hashirama will be intercepted, that despite his marriage to the man he loves, he will still be unwillingly pulled away, forced into something he dreads and fears.

He's not helpless with anyone else except his family. He's not vulnerable when it comes to anything else except those he loves, for they know him best and how to manipulate him best. And his father, perhaps, most of all, given the closeness of the bond he used to share with the man, the closeness of their entire family, mother, father and brothers.

He still doesn't want to blame his father. He still doesn't really know how he feels about the entire matter, because he still loves him, he still remembers the good father he used to be before the madness overtook him, before his mother died and his father was doing everything he could to keep ahold of her, to keep her with him still...

But he still can't forgive him for forcing him away in the first place. He still recalls the moment he felt forced to leave with bitterness, with an unrest in him that won't go away no matter how many months he hiding on that tiny little island.

Ah...but that tiny little island brought him Madara. It brought him a real, a true love. One that he feels giddy just thinking about.

Madara, his now husband, the wonderful man who still loves to try and steal dried scallops away from him when he's making something special (one of his earlier attempts to win the Uchiha clan over), and the man who Izuna chucked a fish at when he got drunk and tried to sing again.

Apparently Izuna agrees with him that Madara should never be allowed to sing. Ever.

Tobirama looks out at the Uchiha, milling about, their suspicions around him relaxing as they see the great love he bears for his husband and the way he plays with the little ones. They're all welcoming, in a way, even when they don't mean to be. This normalcy, after being alone with just Madara for a year, this sense of community and of belonging, however grudgingly...it feels like a balm upon his soul.

He's missed this, the sense of _people_. He's missed this, the feeling that he's not alone, that he's surrounded by people who mean him no harm.

He looks up just then and sees the intentful, soft black gaze of his husband upon him. He looks up to a regard so warm he feels like he's warming up by a fireplace, on a cozy rug, back at that lighthouse. He holds out a hand, allows himself to be tugged close and relaxes into the strong arms that encircle him, sets his head against those strong, broad shoulders.

Not just by people who mean him no harm then. There is one here who genuinely loves him with every fiber in his body.

Perhaps...perhaps he can lay his frustrations with his father to rest.

Perhaps he'll finally write that letter to his Anija and send it out, the risk be damned.

He and Madara have already done everything possible to mitigate that risk.

And, really...it's about time he stopped being afraid.

-~&~-

But hardest of all, is meeting with _Hashirama_ again.

His father is dead. Hashirama had felled him only a few days prior with the Daimyo's blessing, and all the unresolved emotions that Tobirama had for him, all that twisted compassion and ceaseless wondering, all that _regret_ will never be settled.

He'll always wonder if there was some way to bring his father back to the man he used to be. If there was some way to fix the grief that had so twisted the man he'd admired and wipe the slate clean.

Alas, that is never to be.

But at least he can safely meet with his brother now. At least he can see his brother and—

“Anija! Anija, you're squishing me to death!”

Waterworks, he expected. Tears, he had prepared himself for. But this, this, this _manhandling_...!

Strong arms around him. A firm, large body resolutely hugging him as if he would disappear into thin air the moment he was set loose. “Otouto!”

Hearing the rawness in that much-beloved voice, hearing the way it cracked on the last syllable and seeing the way those arms (he knew them as strong, he knew them as resolute, like the sturdy elm trunks) shook with fear around him...

“I thought you died! I thought...I thought I'd _lost_ you! Oh, Tobirama...!”

He swallows and ceases his struggles, relaxing in his brother's hold. He meets Madara's knowing black ones and nods.

The sentiments of the eldest brother. He can't fully understand it, but... He hesitantly brings his own arms up, rests his head against his brother's shaking chest, sighs against the protective hold around him.

“I'm sorry, Anija,” he whispers. “I'm sorry to have caused you worry and grief. It was not my intention.”

Those arms clutch at him, tightens around him, and he feels a sob shudder in the frame around him, before Hashirama shakes his head, before the grip eases.

“Don't be sorry, Otouto. I'd much rather this momentary grief that I felt than what would have happened if you hadn't run. Father was not in his right mind, and the last thing I'd want is for you to suffer for it.”

The arms loosen. A large callused hand—how he's ached for that familial touch, how he's missed it—cups his chin, tilts his head up. “You did the right thing, Otouto. I'm just glad you're safe and well. I'm sorry that father is dead, that I had to kill him—”

It is now Tobirama's turn to shake his head, Tobirama's turn to embrace his brother. “No, Anija. You had no choice either. As you said, father was not in his right mind. And even though I grieve what became of him, what he turned into, I can't help but think that he can finally be either mother again. He was suffering, Hashirama, and that's why it twisted him into this. I don't blame you in any way.”

And it's true, isn't it?

That twisting mass of emotion that lay at the very core of Tobirama, what he can't quite untangle from himself, it eases up, loosening its hold on him.

He still can't think of his father without tensing up, without not knowing _what_ to feel, but he'll deal with that in time. He just knows that, whatever he feels, it is _not_ anger at his brother for doing what needs to be done. He could never blame Hashirama.

He loves his brother, in the same way that Izuna loves his own brother, in the same deep, uncomplicated way that many younger siblings loved (and fought with and disobeyed and tormented) their older sibling.

“I missed you, Anija.”

It's a few moments later when Tobirama's husband clearing his throat catches his Anija's attention.

Hashirama turns to Madara then, bowing formally. “And I thank you for not giving him up, for keeping him safe and now returning him. I—”

Madara rubs his head sheepishly, looking anywhere but at Tobirama's Anija. “Yeah, about that...”

And that's when the rest of the news breaks.

-~&~-

In the end, it's a happily ever after. Despite it all, despite everything against them, crazed fathers, overprotective brothers, fuming cousins promising painful deaths should little cousins ever be hurt, and little brothers vowing to keep an eye on them in case _his Aniki_ was ever hurt—thank you very much Touka-san but why do you assume that it's only Tobirama that might get hurt?!—they have their future.

It takes work. Years of strife, of war and then civil war and age old animosities do not die easily. But bit by bit, as the two clans intermingle and live together, as that village that Hashirama dreamed of (because he's certainly not about to let his brother go again now that he found him again so it's the perfect time to build a village, what do you mean we should wait a few months otouto?!) comes to fruition and Senju children grow up alongside Uchiha, as Touka discovers the pragmatic and solidly dependable Hikaku and Izuna discovers those Senju cousins that are delightfully wicked in bed...

Well, these are the very things bonds are built upon. A shared story. Laughter alongside tears. New life as Uchiha Nami is welcomed to the world by her exhausted mother Touka and her anxious and hovering father Hikaku. Joy as Izuna finds the orphan of a farming village that lay in ruins after a bandit attack and he and his husbands raises her together. Triumph when Uchiha Kagami follows Tobirama home from lessons one day and asks his _Otousan_ if he can also eat _Okaasan's_ cooking.

His husband looks bemused by this, even as Tobirama twists his lips in mild irritation at having been named mother. “Otousan, eh, brat?”

He reaches out, ruffles wild black curls. “When did we adopt you?”

A gap-toothed grin.

“When I tricked Okaasan into signing the forms this morning! I filed them with Ojisan already.”

Brat.

“Plus, I want to learn Okaasan's trick of turning into a dragon! It's so cooool!”

But _Tobirama's_ brat. He and Madara's brat.

And he wouldn't trade this life for any other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But also, that Elder who had a change of heart and allowed Tobirama to escape in the beginning is most certainly dead. Butsuma would never have let him live.


End file.
